


Coraline 2: The Final Unraveling

by NotNeilHimself (Belac77)



Category: Coraline (2009), Coraline - All Media Types, Coraline - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Adventure, Comedy, Dark, Funny, Gen, Horror, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 28,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belac77/pseuds/NotNeilHimself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After 17 years, Coraline has forgotten about the Other Mother. After 17 years, the Other Mother has forgotten everything but Coraline. Join familiar faces like Mr. B, Miss Spink, and Wybie Lovat, and meet new zany characters such as Smith and Wesson. Written in the same style as the original book, this sequel will make you remember everything you loved about Coraline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> It's been several long years since I first published this story now, and I'm glad new people still seem to be finding it! Because it holds a special place in my heart, I'm completing another round of editing on it, to remove the grammar issues of 'little me'. 
> 
> This is how I would end Coraline's story. Characters, of course, do not belong to me. 
> 
> Enjoy! Please leave comments and share it with your friends if you like it!

She was there again. She could feel the cold wind whipping her face, the rain hammering against her skin, the mud bubbling beneath her feet. Coraline shivered, but did not wake.

During the days, she was strong enough to banish these memories from her mind. But nights – nights were the real trouble. Those were the times when Coraline remembered. 

She woke up that morning drenched with sweat.


	2. Found

Finley did not find the box in the attic right away. She always had other things to do than to climb up the musty ladder leading into the darkness of the unknown. 

Reading, for one thing. 

Finley liked to read. It helped keep her mind from the depressing thoughts which sometimes rushed in and tried to fill it - and it gave her the freedom to imagine herself in dangerous and grand situations. One minute she might be lost in the Amazon rainforest, and then boldly questing to save a distressed damsel the next. 

Finley found pleasure in these fantastical exploits, despite their short-lived nature.

She was an orphan; at least she was before her new mother had adopted her. Her new mother was named ‘Coraline’. Finley thought it a beautiful name.

She and Coraline had lived in this house for a few years. It wasn't a big house, but it wasn't a little house, either. It had six doors, seven windows, and three bedrooms. Finley had counted them on an evening when Spencer and Coraline were too busy arguing to pay her any mind. Spencer, she knew, might soon become her father. She could tell by the way he showed up unannounced, and the way he would lean down and tousle her hair (his way of showing affection).

Also, Coraline had given him a key to the front door.

_ I wouldn't mind, _ Finley thought,  _ as long as Coraline is still my mother. _

Finley's bedroom walls were painted a bright reddish-orange, matching the color of her hair. The rest of the house was coated in a mellow shade of yellow, a shade that, according to Finley's mother, was ‘just right’.

In the living room, a picture of a fruit bowl hung from the wall; and in the drawing room, there was some expensive (but uncomfortable) furniture.

Finley was playing hide-and-go-seek with her friend Peter, from across the way. That's why she had gone into the old attic: to hide. She supposed there must be first-rate hiding places up there. Not a moment's thought had been given to what else might be in the attic. She hoped it wasn't spiders. Spiders made Finley intensely uncomfortable. Her mother said that was hereditary, although Finley didn't know what that meant at the time.

When she had climbed up the rickety wooden ladder, and hoisted her small self into the dark nothingness, she was surprised to find only one other item sharing the space with her. 

It was a box about the size of a small dog. (During the last few days, Finley had been begging for a pet, and so ‘about the size of a small dog’ is the first comparison that came to mind.) The box was a bit soggy, but otherwise intact. 

Curious, she bent down and pulled it open. A cloud of dust drifted off. She put her hand to her nose, and attempted to stifle the sneeze that soon followed.

Inside the box, there were a number of interesting things. On top, there was a stack of pictures. Finley held them up to the small skylight in the roof in order to get a better look. 

"Why, that's mother," she exclaimed. "But I wonder who the boy is? Perhaps it's one of her old friends."

Coraline didn't exactly enjoy talking about her ‘old friends’. In fact, Finley had found that her mother wasn't one to talk about the past at all. Whenever she tried to convince her mother to tell her the secrets of her childhood (and there were secrets, Finley thought, why else would the memories be guarded so heavily?), her mother would simply frown a lot and go start dinner; then after about ten minutes would say, “Why don't we go down to the bookstore? You can pick out something you like." And of course, Finley always readily agreed, because she liked nothing as well as books. Except her mother, of course.

Finley looked through all the photos. There were many that included her mother. She'd never seen photos of her mother before, and now perhaps she knew why. Her mother's hair was a shade of blue.  _ Like the evening sky _ , Finley thought. There were lots of pictures of the boy and a slug. Finley grimaced and set them aside.

A sweater had been folded-up beneath the photos. It had stars on it – and they seemed to glow in the dim light. There were crease-lines in it from being in the box for such a long time. Finley laid it flat on the floor, and tried to smooth the fabric. The attic floorboards creaked as she moved. 

_ Mother doesn’t wear sweaters, _ Finley thought.

The last item in the box was a small snow globe. There was no cheerful holiday scene inside its domed glass walls – just tiny white flakes. Finley shook it and watched as the miniature snow fell. 

_ It's snowing outside right now _ , she thought,  _ just like this _ . For a second, Finley wondered if the whole world might be one massive snow globe. It was possible, wasn’t it? If elephants could bathe themselves with their noses, and flipping plastic switches could illuminate entire rooms, and a woman could be elected president of the country...

_ If the world is a snow globe, then who’s shaking it?  _ she wondered.   

After short consideration, she put the thought away, dismissing it as a silly one. That's what Spencer would say. And he worked all day, only coming home just in time for dinner, so he probably knew about these sorts of things.

Finley put the things back into the box: snow globe, sweater, pictures. She laid down and looked up at the skylight. She waited for Peter to find her. The hushed quiet of the attic was soothing, and as her green eyes watched the white flakes falling outside, she drifted off into untroubled sleep.

But it didn't last long.

"Finley!" 

She heard her mother's voice and sat up. 

"Are you in the attic?"

"Yes," she called down.

"What are you doing up there?"

"I'm hiding from Peter."

Her mother’s face suddenly popped up through the door in the floorboards, "Peter's gone. His family phoned and said they wanted him home for dinner."

"Oh." Finley stood, rubbing her freshly-woken eyes.

"Our dinner's almost ready. Spencer should be back soon. Better come down and wash."

"Okay," Finley said, then remembered the box. She decided to leave it, for now. She dropped her legs through the opening in the floor and slid herself down until her foot touched a rung. She climbed down the ladder quickly, and jumped the last few feet, making a delightful thud.

"Are you alright?" came Coraline’s concerned call.

"Yes," Finley answered. "I jumped."

She walked to the washroom and scrubbed her hands vigorously under the faucet’s flow. She wiped them on her shirt, and noticed it was dusty. And wet now, too. She hurried into the kitchen, where she found her mother chopping vegetables.

"Hullo," Coraline said. "Did you wash your hands?"

"Didn't you hear the water?"

Her mother smiled, "Yes. I was only making sure."

Finley tilted her head. "Mother?"

"Yes?" her mother said, stopping the chopping. 

"I found something while I was in the attic," Finley continued. "It was a box.”

Her mother tapped a finger against the countertop.

"I opened it."

"And what did you find inside?"

She hesitated before answering, "Pictures, a sweater, and a snow globe."

Her mother turned her back and the chopping began again. "I told you, Finley, I don't want to talk about these things."

"But," her daughter protested, "I want to know. There were pictures of you when you were small like me!"

Coraline closed her eyes tightly, "I'm sorry. But I can't tell you now. Maybe someday, when you're older."

Finley pouted, but she knew better than to question her mother on this subject. It would lead to nothing but Coraline becoming cross and Finley being sent to bed early.

She trudged into the dining room.

"Finley?" her mother's voice called after her.

Finley's hopes soared. She ran back into the kitchen.

"Set the table, would you?"

Her smile faded. She walked sulkily to the cupboard, stood on tiptoes, and removed three of the ugliest plates. Then she set them on the table.

"Spoons and forks, too," commanded her mother.

She grabbed three spoons and three forks, and placed them next to the plates.

"Thank you," her mother said.

Finley went into the living room to wait. There was a bookcase in the far corner. Sometimes, when no one was looking, she dragged a chair in front of the bookcase, and stood on it so she could reach the top shelf. She was thinking about doing it now, but she heard the front door open. Spencer was home.


	3. Dinner

"I'm home!" Spencer announced. "What's for dinner?"

"Food," said Coraline.

"Great," Spencer sighed sarcastically. Spencer did not appreciate her mother's cooking skills, Finley thought. She liked the food her mother made. Well, most of the time.

She went back into the dining room and sat down at the table. Spencer sat down, too. "Any good books today?" he asked. He knew that Finley often read several books a day during winter break.

"I read about Protective Coloration," Finley answered.

"That's good. That's a very important skill to learn."

Finley looked suspiciously at the man who, soon perhaps, would become her father. "Spencer, can you tell me what Protective Coloration is?" she challenged.

He looked a bit guilty, "Guess I was sleeping during that day of school. Or passing notes to your mother." 

Coraline came out of the kitchen carrying a plate of steaming vegetables. "Yum," Spencer said. “But where’s the meat?” 

Coraline shot him a look. Finley could always identify 'the look'. Her mother showed it to Spencer often.

"Protective Coloration! Spencer was telling me about it," Finley blurted, trying to create a more positive atmosphere.

"Oh?" said her mother, amused.

"Well, you know,” Spencer shrugged and grinned. “If I can come home from work and teach the kid some science, I'm happy."

Finley frowned. She didn't like being called a "kid". Her mother noticed the frown.

"She has a name, Spencer."

He raised an eyebrow. "I know she does. It's a term of affection."

Her mother's voice became a little strained, "'Kid'? A term of affection?" She turned to Finley, "Do you like when he calls you that?" 

Finley had to shake her head.

“How was I supposed to know?" Spencer chuckled, "My dad used to call me that all the time."

"And you liked it?" her mother asked.

"I don't know about that, but – didn’t your parents give you a little nickname?” He smiled, “Or were they too busy gardening to talk to you?"

Coraline said a swear.

Finley started crying (but just a bit, and the tears left as suddenly as they had arrived).

“I’m not hungry,” Coraline said, and stood up. She walked off. 

Spencer followed her, calling, “Now hold on a minute–”

Finley waited a reasonable amount of time, then gave up and ate her dinner alone. The vegetables had too much salt on them, but they still tasted good to Finley, who was very hungry. And being alone meant she didn’t have to ask nicely for someone to pass her the potatoes, or worry about what they would say when she spilled some of her water on the tablecloth. She even tipped her chair back and dangled her feet, which she never could have gotten away with if Coraline and Spencer were at the table.

Angry-sounding voices came from upstairs, so she decided to go outside. 

After she cleared her plate and put it into the dishwasher, Finley put on her coat and gloves. The coat had been given to her by her best friend at her ninth birthday party, so it was special. The gloves had been her mother's when she was young. They were more special.

Finley pulled open the front door and stepped out into the cold night air. It was always cold in New York City in November. The winds blew with a vengeance, and you could catch cold if you weren't careful. Finley made sure her coat was fully zipped. She didn't like the idea of catching a cold.  _ And besides _ , she thought,  _ how does one catch a cold? Isn't it more like the cold catches  _ **_you_ ** _? _

The snow was deep, up to her knees. "Perhaps I should have put on pants," she muttered to herself.

"Perhaps you’re right," said a kind voice. "What are you doing out here this time of night, young lady?"

Finley smiled politely at her next-door neighbor, "I decided to take a walk. Mother and Spencer are having a private talk." 

Mrs. Stevens was no stranger to the situation.

"Sure is cold out tonight," she commented. Finley nodded in agreement, and wrapped her arms around herself. 

"A hot cup of cocoa sure would be nice on a night like this." 

Finley nodded again, but more enthusiastically.

"How ‘bout this," the elderly woman told her. "Why don't you come in and visit with me for a bit, instead of taking that walk. I got a fresh pot of cocoa on the stove," she winked.

"That sounds  _ capital _ ," Finley replied, trying out a new word she had read in the dictionary. "I accept your invitation." 

Mrs. Stevens led her inside a small apartment. To Finley, coming from outdoors, it was like stepping into a burning oven.

She took her coat off and hung it on the wire coat hanger. She kept her gloves on.

Mrs. Stevens moved around in the kitchen, gathering cream and cups and marshmallows. "What have you been up to lately Miss Finley? You haven't come to visit me in a long while."

"Oh," Finley said, feeling a tad guilty. "I've been busy...with things."

"Mhmm, I thought so. People are too busy nowadays for their own good, if you ask me." She laughed, “But you didn’t.”

"Has your son written you yet?"

Mrs. Stevens had a long-lost son; Finley had found this out a few months ago. She wrote to her son every week, but as far as Finley could tell, he never wrote back.

"Nope,” the old woman replied. “But I'll never stop writing. One of these days..." she trailed off.

Finley didn’t have much practice, but she knew that the usual thing to do in this sort of situation was to reassure the person with some encouraging words, in order to perk them back up and lift their spirits.

"Perhaps,” Finley said, “he wants to write you, but doesn’t have enough money to buy a postage stamp." 

Pleased with her idea, Finley sat waiting for the promised hot cocoa.

Mrs. Stevens took her time, pouring cocoa into the cups carefully. The dark brown liquid matched her skin, Finley noticed.

Finally, it was ready. Mrs. Stevens placed the two cups on the table, and sat herself down next to Finley.

"How's your Mum doing these days?"

"Fine," Finley answered, eagerly sipping from her mug.

"That's fine. And Spencer?"

"Fine. He works a lot."

Mrs. Stevens nodded knowingly, "Every man does. Why, that's the reason my son up and left. Figured he had to make his own living, so he got a job for some company driving a bus and took off. Not that work is a bad thing, mind you. Don't be telling your Mum I said a thing like that, y’hear?"

Finley pretended to zip up her lips (she had once seen a film character do this, and had been waiting for a chance to try it herself for many months). Mrs. Stevens cackled, "Good, good. Well, your mother will be worried about you 'fore long. You best get home."

Finley finished her cocoa and walked to the door. She put her coat back on. "Thank you for having me," she called.

"You're welcome anytime," came Mrs. Stevens reply.

Finley opened the door and was reunited with the winter winds. On the way back to her house, she saw the snowman she had built earlier that week. He had begun melting only to freeze again; his carrot nose hung at an unnatural angle, and a button eye had slid down his cheek.

_ Creepy _ , Finley thought to herself happily, still feeling warm and fuzzy from the refreshment. She hopped up the front steps of her house and unlocked the door with her key (after two or three attempts).

The angry voices had stopped. 

Once she put away her coat and gloves and shoes, Finley climbed up the stairs.

She brushed her teeth, undressed, and got into bed. She was about to drift off into a dreamy sleep when her mother peeked in. Finley sat up.

"Did you go outside?" her mother asked softly.

"Yes. Mrs. Stevens invited me over and we drank cocoa. Then I came back here."

"Good," said her mother, coming to stand beside the bed. "You wore your coat?"

"Yes," said Finley. "And my gloves."

Her mother nodded, then looked away. When she met Finley’s gaze again, her eyes were watery. 

"You know that Spencer and I weren't fighting."

"Right," Finley said. "It was just a discussion."

"Exactly," said her mother, turning to leave. "Goodnight. I love you."

"I love you too," Finley said. 

And then she went to sleep.

Coraline lingered in the doorway, listening to Finley’s breathing slow. 

Once she was sure that her daughter was sleeping peacefully, Coraline returned to her own room. 

But sleep eluded her.


	4. Frustrated

By the next morning it had stopped snowing. To Finley, this was a welcome relief.  _ Any higher and I’d be snowed-in, _ she thought with a frown.

She yawned. It wasn't a tired yawn—it was a waking-up yawn. She made her bed and then looked at the clock on her wall. It was too early for Mother to be up.

She decided to tidy her room. Not that it needed much cleaning. She ran a tight, organized ship. She found a few marbles on the floor. She put them inside a bag and put it on the shelf. Then she picked up a few clothing items that lay on the floor and put them in her dresser drawer where they belonged.

"All clean," she said, looking around. But it wasn't—not yet. There was her doll, laying under the bed with just an arm poking out. Finley got down on her knees and peered at it.

"What are you doing under here?" she inquired of the doll. 

It made no reply. 

"It's rude to ignore someone when they’ve asked you a question," Finley told the doll.

"Hullo, Finley." 

Spencer had come in while she was talking. He looked puzzled, "Who're you talking to?"

Finley sat up straight, biting her lip, “No one.” 

“I heard something,” Spencer folded his arms.

"Just my doll,” she confessed. “She was hiding under the bed again."

Spencer scowled, “Not this again, Finley. Talking to inanimate objects is fine when you're seven or eight. But you're almost ten years old." He glanced at his watch, “We aren’t through with this, but I have to run.”

He said goodbye and headed off to work. Finley didn't know where he worked. He just did. 

She yanked the doll into the open and heaved a sigh. Spencer was probably right; she was getting too old for dolls. But how would she explain this fact to dear old Clara (the doll), who had been with her from the very beginning?

She was suddenly tired of waiting in her room. Besides, if Spencer was awake, maybe her mother was, too. 

She tiptoed out of her room, down the staircase, and to the living room sofa. She liked how quiet it was in the early mornings, as if she was the sole remaining creature on the planet. 

Mornings for Finley had not always been this way. Before Coraline had adopted her, she'd lived at Fitzpatrick's Fabulous Home for Ornery Orphans (FFHOO for short). FFHOO had not been 'fabulous' at all, in Finley's opinion. Most of the other orphans had been mean. They were the kind of children forced to grow up too early, and didn't have much patience for a small girl who played with grimy dolls and read complicated books.

_ But my life is different now, _ she thought.  _ I have a mother, and maybe a father. And a home all to myself. And books. There's only one thing that could be better: if only Mother would tell me about the box. _

The doorbell rang abruptly. Finley looked around. No one else seemed to be getting the door, so she took the responsibility upon herself.

"Who is it?" she called through the door, trying her best to sound like a grown woman interrupted from cooking breakfast.

"Postman," came the reply. 

Finley opened the door a crack, just enough to see if the person was lying. He wasn't.

"I have a package here for ‘Finley’—is that you?"

"Yes, I'm Finley!" She took the package from the man.

"And I'm Postman Bob."

"Goodbye, Postman Bob," said Finley, and closed the door.

"Goodbye, Finley," said Postman Bob, a bit muffled.

Finley hurried back to the living room, where she set the box down on the floor. It wasn't a big box, but it wasn't a little box, either. It was a bit heavy. She wondered what could be inside, and who had sent it. She looked at the packing label taped to the top.

"It's from Oregon," she said in a reverent whisper. "Oregon!" 

She knew that was where her mother had lived long ago.

This box had to be opened; there was no time to lose. It was taped securely. Try as she might to pull the tape away with her fingers, it remained closed. Scissors would be required.

She ran to get them, but walked back, because she knew never to run with scissors. Plopping down onto the floor, she began cutting away the tape.

The box lid opened up. Finley peered inside. 

There were books! And candy! And a letter addressed to her mother!

"What's that?" her mother yawned, shuffling into the room. She was still wearing her dressing gown.

Finley turned, eyes wide as saucers, "It's a package! From Oregon!"

"Another one?" Coraline's eyes narrowed. She strode to the box, shaking off all traces of sleepiness. 

"Look Mother, books! And candy, too! And there's a letter for you! Is it from that boy in the pictures I found?" Finley found herself short of breath (she rarely used so many exclamation marks in such short time).

Her mother didn't say anything. She sank down and began reading the letter to herself. Finley tried to look over her shoulder, but Coraline gave her a look that seemed fiercer than any before.

After a while, her mother got up, rather shakily. "Put the things back in the box," she instructed. "We're sending it back."

Finley protested, horrified that  **she** , whose  **name** was on the outside of the box, should have to give up the precious gifts inside. Her mother ignored her. 

Finley laid down on the couch like it was a bed, something that she knew was forbidden. Her mother picked up the phone in the kitchen and dialed a number. Finley's mind was still jumbled and pouty and mad, but her hearing became sharply-concentrated.

"How many times do I have to tell you: stop sending things to my daughter." 

There was a pause. 

"I know it was you, Wyborn. I read your letter. I don't want to call the authorities, but I will if this doesn't stop. Now!" Coraline banged the phone down.

She walked back into the living room. Her eyes swept over the books and candy, still strewn about.

"Finley, put these back in the box."

"No." 

(It was a muffled 'no', since her head was currently buried in a couch cushion.)

"What did you say?"

Finley sat up, "I said 'no'."

Her mother scowled. "Don't talk back to me," she said. "And don’t lay about on the furniture; you know my grandmother gave them to my parents who gave them to me."

Finley stayed right where she was. She pretended to be a doll, immobile.

"I don't like doing this," her mother said. "But you need to go to your room until you can behave properly."

Finley stopped pretending. She stood up and went to her room. She cradled Clara in her arms and got into bed. She pulled the covers over the two of them and curled up into a ball.


	5. Letter

Finley found herself very bored over the next few days. It was a strange new feeling to her: a child who had always been able to lose herself in a book. But it seemed as if the books were just as bored as she was; the black ink on the white pages looked flat and meaningless.

So she began spending more time outdoors. She would put on her snowsuit and venture bravely forth into the New York tundra. 

But after a few days, the outside felt as boring as the inside. There was nothing to do outside but build snowmen (once was enough for Finley), have snowball fights ( _ Too easy for me, _ thought Finley, hitting her mother square in the chest), and make snow angels (she ran out of room).

Boring hour by boring hour went by until, quite suddenly, an entire week had passed and it was Tuesday afternoon.

"I'm going food shopping," her mother announced. "Would you like to come?"

Finley was laying face-down on the floor. She rolled onto her back to answer. 

"No thank you."

Her mother drew a hand over her mouth, and said, in a shocked tone of voice, "No? But I thought you were bored!"

"I am," said Finley.

"What could be more exciting than food shopping?" joked her mother.

Finley did not find this particularly funny. 

“Honestly,” her mother sighed. “Well, I'll be back soon. Be good." 

And with that, Finley was alone in the house.

She remained motionless for what seemed like ages, but was probably just a few minutes. Then she heard a knock on the door.

"I'm coming!" she called, jumping to her feet and sprinting into the front hall. Before she had time to consider maxims like ‘keep the door locked’ or ‘stranger danger’, Finley had flung the door wide open.

"Hullo," said Postman Bob. "Hullo, Finley."

"Hullo, Postman Bob," said Finley, glad to see a familiar face. Then, rather hopefully, "Do you have another package for me?"

Postman Bob chuckled, "Not a package. It’s a letter this time." He handed Finley a brown envelope. "It seems to be quite important. Shipped overnight delivery. What could be in there, d’ya think?"

Finley told him that she hadn't the faintest idea, and bid farewell. 

_ Frankly, it’s none of his business _ , she thought.

She carried the letter up to her room and sat at her reading desk. A letter opener (that she had found on the floor one day and decided to keep) unsealed the brown envelope painlessly. She took the letter out and began to read it as best she could.

"Dear Finley, I suspect by now that you've noticed your mother's reluctance to discuss her past." 

Finley frowned. She had noticed this. On multiple occasions. She continued reading. 

"Do you know the reason why your mother has been fighting with Spencer so much? It is because she is unhappy. And she is unhappy because she cannot put the past behind her."

Finley put the letter down. Unhappy? Was her mother  **unhappy** ? She thought about it. Coraline had been frowning more of late. 

_ Yes _ , she decided,  _ Mother must be unhappy. And that's why she's fighting so much with Spencer. Because she can't let go of the past. She keeps it bottled up inside her like— well, like a bottle of water. _

She picked the letter back up. 

"I know you want to help your mother become happy again, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," Finley said aloud. "Of course."

"So I have come up with a plan." 

_ A plan _ , Finley thought,  _ that's good _ . In her adventure books, the hero always had a plan. That's how they defeated the villain. 

_ But _ , she wondered,  _ who is the villain in this case? _ She thought about it and decided that Coraline’s childhood history itself was the dastardly foe.

Either that, or Postman Bob, on account of him delivering all the letters and packages from Oregon. 

But probably the first one.

"You must come at once. Meet me here in Oregon at your mother's old flat."

The writer of the letter then listed an address. 

"If she is ever to know true happiness again, this is her only chance. I know you will do the right thing, Finley. Sincerely, Wyborn, an Old Friend of your Mother's."

Finley paced back-and-forth across her room. 

The writer, her mother's old friend, Wyborn, wanted to meet her at her mother's old home! According to the address listed, it was called the Pink Palace. ( _ Which _ , Finley thought,  _ sounds wonderfully romantic _ .)

It was a lot to process. She sank down onto her bed.

Finally, after bottling up questions for so long, she was going to Oregon to learn the answers. And not only that, but it was the only way to save her mother from a lifetime of unhappiness!

“I’m going to need a few items,” she said. Her voice sounded echo-y in the empty house.

Finley ran into Spencer's room, the only room in the house with a computer. Spencer had shown her how to use it once. She pressed the 'on' button. It took a few minutes, but then it warmed up and displayed a home screen. Luckily, there was no password. 

(Although Finley was reasonably certain she’d be able to crack it if there had turned out to be one.) 

Finley opened a web browser and typed in 'How to get from New York City to Ashland, Oregon'. She pressed enter. Almost immediately, a map popped up. She clicked the print button and ran to wait anxiously by the printer.

By the time her mother returned home, Finley's preparation was completed. 

She would leave the next morning, early. She had the map in her backpack, along with certain other things she would need. She had packed a book, a banana, a few five-dollar bills (all the money she had saved), and several changes of clothing.

Later, when Coraline came to kiss her goodnight, Finley asked her a question. 

"Are you happy, Mother?"

Her mother paused a few seconds before answering, and that was all Finley needed to know that the letter told the truth.

"Most of the time I am," answered her mother. "Most of the time."

Finley closed her eyes and smiled giddily, "Don't worry, Mother. Soon, you'll be happy all of the time."

Coraline watched her adopted daughter for several minutes before leaving. 

_ Finley is such a good child, _ Coraline thought.  _ Much better than I was to my parents. _

She hadn't heard from her father in a few months. He had kept to himself after her mother's death in an automobile accident. 

Coraline went into her own room. She turned out the lights, undressed, and got into bed. If only the dream would leave her alone for one night...


	6. Missing

The next morning, the sun got up early, but Coraline did not. She stayed in bed, thinking.

_ Perhaps I haven’t been fair to her, _ Coraline thought.  _ It isn’t her fault that the questions she asks are hard for me to answer. Maybe it’s time I tell her everything. _

Coraline pushed the covers off and took a step towards the door. 

_ I’ll tell her about the Pink Palace... _

She took another step.

_ And how I met Wybie... _

Almost to the door now.

_ And how I defeated the—  _

She couldn’t! 

Talking about it made it real. Coraline had spent years convincing herself it had been nothing but a fantasy: the imaginary exploits of a neglected child with an overactive curiosity. 

She remained in her room for a while longer before her stomach reminded her about breakfast.

The house was hushed as she descended the stairs. It was unusual for Coraline to be out of bed before her daughter.

Breakfast began by getting the egg carton out of the icebox. She made herself an omelet and sat down to eat it.

_ I only liked cheese omelets when I was little, _ she recalled, stabbing an olive with her fork.  _ I was a picky-eater. Finley is much better. _

Coraline left her omelet sitting half-eaten on her plate. She hurried up to Finley's room. The door was slightly ajar.

"Finley, are you awake?" she called softly. 

There was no reply.

She flung the door wide and her breath caught in her chest as she surveyed the room.

The empty room. 

_ Be calm. She went to see me and fell asleep in my bed, or perhaps she’s playing in the attic. _

She checked her room, the attic, and even Spencer’s room.

No Finley.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she almost fell. 

A quick search found the downstairs as deserted as the upper level.

_ She woke up early and went out to play, or perhaps to visit Mrs. Stevens.  _

Through the front window, she saw the snowy yard, the cracked sidewalk, and nothing else.

She hastened into the kitchen and picked up the phone, dialing the number with an unsteady hand.

After what felt like forever, a slow, crinkly voice came on the line.

"Hullo?"

"Hullo, Mrs. Stevens, it's Coraline Jones, from next-door. Finley's mother."

"Why, good morning, Mrs. Jones. What can I do for you?"

"Is Finley there?"

A short pause, then a chuckle, "I imagine she’s in her bed, fast asleep. Those young people can sleep ‘til noon."

"Have you seen her at all today?"

The worry in Coraline’s voice betrayed the seriousness of the situation. Mrs. Stevens cleared her throat and didn’t speak for a moment.

"Come to think of it, I do remember seeing someone leaving your house. It was early and I didn't have my spectacles on, so I assumed it was Mr. Price. But now that I think about it, this person was too short to be him."

"Why would she— ?" Coraline's words came out rushed, and disconnected. “Where did she go?”

“I’m afraid I have no idea. Oh, she was carrying some sort of bag, though. Or was it a backpack?” 

"Thank you," Coraline said. Then she hung up.

_ Where could Finley possibly be going? Why didn’t she tell me anything? _

Coraline hesitated for a second, and a horrible thought crossed her mind. She dialed another number.

"NYPD here, what's the nature of your call?"

"I'd like to report a missing child."

"All right. What is your relationship to the child?"

"She's my daughter." Coraline's voice was laced with worry.

"Any idea where she might be, ma'am?"

"None. She’s never gone far from the house before. Our neighbor saw her leaving this morning, and—"

"Okay ma'am, can I get your name?"

"Coraline," said Coraline.

"Well, Coraline," said the man, who sounded a little annoyed. "I'll see what I can do. Of course, your daughter will have to be missing for a while longer before a missing person's report can be filed. Let’s sit tight for a bit. And— who knows— your neighbor may be mistaken, and this girl of yours is simply hiding in a closet."

"I don't pay my tax dollars for you to sit around at a time like this!" Coraline lost her temper.

The man paused, and Coraline heard him ask a question to someone in the background. When he came back on the line, his tone was friendly. "We'll send two of our  _ best _ detectives right away. What’s your address?"

Coraline gave the man her address, hung up, and collapsed into a chair.

"My daughter is missing," she kept telling herself, each time believing it a little more. "I've got to do something." 

But what?

_ I know! I’ll search her room for clues. _

Coraline flew to Finley's room. It smelled fruity, thanks to an air-freshener plugged into the wall. 

The floor was bare, so she opened the closet. Several of Finley's favorite clothing articles were gone. 

Turning around, something sticking out from under the bed caught her eye. She took a step towards it.

But then she saw something else: a piece of paper lying on the desk.

A letter. 

She read it. 

Then she went outside to wait for the police.

About twenty minutes later, a police car drove up and parked next to the house.

Two detectives hopped out and introduced themselves to Coraline. They told her to give them all the facts. For the next few minutes, Coraline relayed all she knew to police detectives Smith and Wesson.

“—and just now, while I was waiting for you," she said, trying to keep herself together. "I went up and looked around in her room again. Some clothes are missing, but I also found this."

She handed the letter to Detective Smith.

"A letter?" he said, in his deep voice (which Coraline somehow found vaguely familiar, as if she'd heard it before, a long time ago).

Coraline nodded. She was afraid that if she spoke, her words would turn into sobs. Her daughter, the only thing worth living for, had vanished.

"Do you know who wrote this?" Smith questioned, while Wesson read the letter from over his shoulder.

"Yes,” she choked out.

"It's signed, 'Wyborn'. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Coraline closed her eyes and told them about Wybie. He had known her when she was a girl. Both of them had lived at the Pink Palace. He had not wanted her to leave. He had been sending Finley packages and letters for months now.

"Is he a  _ dangerous _ sort of person?" Smith wondered.

Coraline remembered how she had called him the 'village stalker'. 

"It's been so long since I've seen him. I couldn't really say."

"Well, don't you worry about your daughter," Police Detective Smith told her. "If anyone can find her, we can! I'm the brains, and Detective Wesson here is the brawn." 

Wesson smiled at her.

Coraline did not feel any better.


	7. Motorcycles

Sitting on the uneven bench made Finley long for the familiar warmth of her bed. But the weather was frigid and she needed to rest.

When she had set out that morning, the temperature was the last thing on her mind. The thrill, the excitement, and the anticipation distracted her from the icy ground, howling wind, and cloud-covered sky. 

_ I hope mother isn't too upset with me for leaving. It's for her, after all. And if I'm going to help her, I have to get to Oregon—so I'd better stop resting and start walking. _

Finley got to her feet. She began heading in the general direction of Oregon, her pack slung across her back.

She occupied the time by thinking up possibilities to explain why her mother refused to discuss the past. Did she get teased at school for having blue hair? Had she been run out of town for committing a horrible crime?

Eventually, Finley reached a small building, and perceived she was hungry. The sign in front advertised 'Food and Gas'. 

_ That's funny _ , thought Finley, amused at the (admittedly awkward) wording.

She laid her backpack down on a rusty bench outside the building and unzipped it. Rooting through the contents produced what she was searching for: money. Not just money, but her life savings. It wasn't much; only twenty dollars, maybe a little less. (After the money Finley spent on books, there wasn't much left for savings.)

She stuffed the bills into her coat pocket, hoisted the backpack up, and entered the diner.

Finley chose a table in the back where she hoped she wouldn't be recognized. She didn't know how far her mother's reach extended, in terms of locating her.

A waiter came by and gave her a glass of water. It had ice in it. She didn't drink it. There was an empty table to her right and an empty table to her left. She looked at the menu (with some disgust, being used to Coraline’s deliciously nutritious home-cooked meals).

Finley had arrived at that perfect moment when lunch is just opening up, but breakfast hasn’t quite closed down.

"I'll have a hot dog and an egg," Finley told the waiter. 

He looked at her strangely. 

"And a plate of carrots," she said quickly. Her mother always taught her to eat vegetables, and since carrots were rumored to help one's eyesight, it was no secret which one Finley liked best. (Healthy eyes promised a lifetime of squint-free reading.)

The diner door banged open and a group of bikers came swaggering inside, tossing used cigarettes into an ashtray. Finley studied their dark leather jackets and motorcycle helmets with admiration (and trepidation).

They came close to her table. She didn't know quite what to do: hunker down to avoid drawing attention or sit up tall and act natural to avoid drawing attention.

But it didn't matter; the bikers were laughing amongst themselves and didn't give Finley a single glance as they sat down in the neighboring booth. There were five bikers in all—three boys and two girls.

Finley waited patiently for her sustenance. Finally, they appeared. "Little girl," said the waiter, setting the plate in front of her. "Are you here alone?"

Finley panicked, then pretended. 

"No," she lied. "My mum's out in the car. She said I could come in and get a snack."

The waiter seemed relieved, "Oh, all right. Just making sure. You understand." He went off to talk to the bikers.

Just as Finley was taking a bite of her egg, she heard a scooting noise. Looking up, she was startled to see one of the female bikers across from her.

"Hello," said the lady. She showed Finley a good-natured grin.

"Hullo," said Finley, unsure of what the lady was doing at her table.

"You might be wondering what I'm doing at your table," the lady said. 

Finley nodded a bit, and put her fork down. 

"I just happened to overhear your conversation with the waiter. About being alone."

A pit began growing in her stomach; did this lady know what she was doing?

"Just before we came in here, I heard an alert on the police radio," the biker continued. "That's you, isn't it? You ran away from home."

Finley could feel her heart beating inside her chest. Surely everyone else in the diner could hear it as well. 

Should she come clean and confess? Her mind said ‘no’, but the word that came from her mouth was: “Maybe.”

"Good for you," the biker told Finley. "I always wanted to run away from home, but could never muster up enough spunk."

"But I'm not really  _ running away _ ," Finley tried to explain.

Her tablemate wasn't listening.

"My father was hard on me, if ya know what I mean. My mother, too, but mainly my father. Yes, I thought about leaving many times. But I'd always get scared and stay put." 

She smiled at Finley and said, "Good for you!" again. 

Finley decided she’d better start eating; hotdogs were not meant to be eaten cold.

"How rude of me," exclaimed the lady. "I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Melrose, but you can call me ‘Rosy’. All my friends do."

Finley wondered if it was wise to talk to someone who, after only five minutes of awkward conversation, considered her a 'friend'.

"And your name is—?" asked Melrose.

"I'm Finley," said Finley. "My friends call me—Finley."

"I see," replied Melrose. "And where are you headed? You can tell me." She made a zipping motion across her lips and winked.

Finley squirmed before answering in a low voice, "Oregon."

"My, that sure is far. Any particular reason you're heading in that direction?"

"Yes," Finley told her. "An old friend of my mother’s lives there. He told me to come."

"That's good." 

Melrose looked wistfully out the window, "If only my mother had an old friend who would've looked after me..." her voice trailed off. 

"But that's neither here nor there. Tell me, Finley, how’re you planning on getting to Oregon? It's an awful long way, you know."

"I know," Finley responded. "I have a map." She took a bite of her egg, having already finished the hotdog.

"Having a map is fine and dandy, but you can't walk all the way to Oregon," Melrose said, rather sensibly.

Finley thought about this. Oregon  **was** a long journey, and it seemed especially arduous for someone of her age to cover all that distance on foot. (Though she had confidently ignored this fact during her early morning travel.)

"I know," exclaimed Melrose. "You can come with us!"

"Sorry?"

"You can come with me! You can ride on my motorcycle. I've got an extra helmet; and besides, I've always wanted to visit Oregon. Whaddya say?"

It was the only way, Finley knew. Her previous plan of walking to Oregon now felt highly embarrassing. 

"I accept your offer, Melrose," she said.

"Wonderful," said Melrose. "But you have to call me ‘Rosy’."

"I accept your offer, Rosy."


	8. Bus

Finley, it turned out, quite liked traveling by motorcycle. The breeze blew through her hair as the scenery zipped by.

"How are you getting along back there?" Rosy yelled, barely audible through the wind.

"Capitally!" Finley called back. "It's getting rather dark though, don't you think, Rosy?"

"Yeah! Lemme give Tim a call on the radio." 

Finley waited while Rosy used the bike radio to call Tim, one of the other motorcyclists. 

_ Having a two-way radio built-in to your ride is very handy _ , Finley thought. She wished her mother's car had a two-way radio. The radio in her mother's car mostly played unknown people discussing politics. Or the weather.

"He says we'll stop for the night up here!" Rosy shouted, taking a hand off the bike to point to a tall building ahead.

'The Royal Tunbridge Wells Inn' said the sign on the door. Rosy and her biker friends parked outside. Then they walked into the inn.

Rosy took Finley aside and asked if she had any money.

"I do," replied Finley. "I've been saving it up."

"That's good. You can buy your own room. ‘Course, you could always stay with me and Sara in our room, if you'd prefer."

They walked up to the front desk and Tim started talking to the clerk.

"Three rooms. One night," said Tim.

The man at the front desk peered through horn-rimmed glasses over the counter at them. He looked suspicious. 

"We don't smoke," Tim said.

"Do your  _ pets _ smoke?" asked the man, sniffing in a very suspicious manner.

"Don't have any pets," Tim scowled.

The clerk sighed, "We might be able to work you in. Although here at the Royal Tunbridge Wells Inn, we are very, very busy."

_ It doesn't look very, very busy, _ thought Finley.  _ It doesn’t even look busy with one very. _

"But," the man continued, "I can pull some strings. Fifty bucks a room, plus a cleaning deposit. You understand, I’m sure."

"Highway robbery! I won't pay that price," exclaimed Tim.

"He likes to think of himself as a rock-hard negotiator," Rosy whispered to Finley.

The clerk sneered, "My best offer would be forty dollars a night. With only one bed in each room."

"Thirty!" Tim countered.

"Thirty-five!" said the man (who was getting into the spirit of things).

"Forty!" called Tim (who could never grasp the bargaining process).

"Sixty-seven dollars and forty cents!"

"You’ve got yourself a deal!" exclaimed Tim.

Despite Finley’s limited exposure to negotiation, she recognized that Tim’s self-image was detached from reality.

The other bikers growled and made exacerbated gestures behind Tim’s back as he shook the clerk’s hand.

The clerk rang a bell, causing a small boy to appear through a little door. He looked to be about Finley's age.

He slouched up to Rosy and said, "Take yer bags, miss?"

"You cannot," said Rosy, "because I have none. I'm a free bird, with no ungainly feathers to weigh me down!"

The boy froze for a few seconds, then eyed Finley. Neither of them said anything. The moment passed and the boy moved on.

The bikers went up to their rooms.

"I'll be in room twenty-two, if you change your mind," Rosy told Finley.

Finley approached the man at the front desk. He had gone back to using his computer.

"Excuse me, but do you have a room available for me?"

"Hm," said the man, scratching his head. "You seem familiar." He looked her over. Finley saw that he had a radio by his desk. A radio that could have told him to be on the lookout for a runaway girl.

"On second thought, never mind!" Finley called, hurrying away. She hoped he hadn't gotten a good look at her. She hoped he wouldn't call her mother and tell her where she was. She had to reach Oregon. It was only for the best.

She knocked on the door to room twenty-two. It opened, and Sara's tall frame filled it.

"Oh, it's you," she glared. "Rosy! The little girl’s back."

Rosy came to greet her, "So you've changed your mind. I'm glad."

"She doesn't seem glad," Finley remarked in a hushed voice, as Sara began flipping through television channels.

"Oh, her? She'll warm up. Once you’ve gotten to know her. Hey, you ever wanted to be a biker?"

Finley nodded. She did think it would be fun, especially after her experience today.

"It  _ would _ be fun," she said slowly. "But I can't. I have a job to do."

Rosy patted her on the back, "I understand. And don't you worry; we'll getcha to Oregon by tomorrow night, for sure. Now if I was you, I'd get some shut-eye."

Finley crawled into one of the beds. She was asleep before Sara and Rosy could blink twice.

"Out like a light," said Sara. “I call the other bed.”

"Today’s been tough for her," said Rosy dreamily. "She ran away from home."

Sara grimaced, "None of my business."

Finley woke in the middle of the night, sniffling. 

She heard Rosy’s reassuring voice beside her, “You okay?”

Finley wiped her nose on her arm, “Yes.”

“Bad dream?”

“I dreamt that my mother forgot all about me and adopted someone else instead.”

"Your mother would never do a thing like that," Rosy told her. “I’m sure of it. Bad dreams aren’t real. So let’s go back to sleep before we wake Sara.”

“Too late,” came Sara’s sleepy voice from across the room.

Finley gulped, prepared to become more upset, but Sara was surprisingly polite.

“Rosy’s right, kid. Dreams never come true. Well, almost never. Now both of you hush up.”

The group set out early the next morning. On the way out, Finley ate a tasteless apple from the inn’s complimentary breakfast. She wondered how they could make an apple that didn’t taste like an apple.

Around noon, they crossed over into Oregon. 

"Excited?" asked Rosy.

"Yes," Finley answered. 

Truthfully, she was more relieved than excited. She was one step closer to reuniting with her mother. She was sure of that.

They drove up mountain roads and then down into valleys. They drove around rivers and then crossed over them on bridges. 

It was late in the afternoon when they stopped at a tiny bus station in a tiny town.

"This is where we part ways," Rosy told her, taking her spare helmet back and stowing it away. "The bus will take you wherever you’re headed next. Do you have money for a ticket?"

"I hope so," murmured Finley.

"What's that?" asked Rosy.

"Yes," Finley said with false confidence.

"Well then," said Rosy. It seemed to Finley that she was holding back a wave of emotion.

"Goodbye, Rosy," she said, giving her new friend a small hug. "Thank you very much for the ride. And the hotel room."

Rosy nodded, "Happy to help. Good luck. And take care of yourself, y’hear?"

"I will," said Finley. 

Sara raised a hand in soldierly salute, “No more bad dreams, kid.”

Finley returned the gesture, “I’ll do my best.”

Even Tim grunted a goodbye.

She watched as Rosy and the gang rode off, spitting up dust in their wake. She wondered where they were going next. 

When Finley could no longer see them, she looked at the bus schedule.

As best she could tell, a bus would arrive in about an hour. It would drop off and pick up passengers. And then it would leave for Ashland.

Waiting an hour was easy. Time flew by as she read the book she had packed. She barely raised her head when the bus pulled up, she was so engaged in her reading.

"All aboard!" 

The call startled her. She looked up to see a short man standing in the entryway to the vehicle. He called out again, "All aboard!"

She hurried to pack up her bag, then walked up to the man. "I'd like to go to Ashland, Oregon, please."

The man smiled, "I do believe that's the only Ashland we stop at. Hop on."

She hopped on, then asked, "How much does the ticket cost?"

"Here in Oregon, passengers don't have to pay until after they get where they’re going," explained the man.

"That seems naive," said Finley.

"Not really," chuckled the man. "When you go to a restaurant, you pay for the food after you eat it, don’t you?"

_ That’s true, _ Finley thought. She sat down in the seat directly behind the driver. There were a few other people on the bus, but they were sitting in the back. It was very quiet (for a bus).

"How long is the drive?" she asked.

"About two hours," said the driver. "I'm Henry, by the way. Henry Winkle Thorndyke. To whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

Finley grinned, "Finley Hallee Jones. But you can just call me Finley."

Henry laughed, "Finley it is then. What’s got you heading out to Ashland all by yourself, Miss Finley?"

“I'm going to visit an old family friend. He used to know my mother."

"Sounds fun," said Henry. "I haven't seen my mama in years."

Finley bit her lip. She hadn't seen her mother in two days and she was already missing her terribly. Henry must feel a thousand times worse.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” she told Henry.

“The last time I saw her, I said some things I regret. But that’s life for you, I guess. Can’t go back and change it now.”

As she listened to his troubled tale, she remembered something. Mrs. Stevens had said something about her long lost son going to work as a bus driver. 

_ But how should I go about asking Henry if he’s the son?  _ she wondered.  _ I don’t want to pry. That might be rude. _

Before she knew it, the sun had set and darkness had fallen and everyone else had exited the vehicle.

"Here we are," said Henry, gently shaking her awake.

Finley yawned and sat up. 

"You have very comfortable seats in Oregon," she told Henry. 

“If only all my passengers thought that,” he guffawed.

"How much do I owe you?" Finley asked, opening her backpack.

"Come to think of it," Henry said, "rides to Ashland are free today."

Finley was confused, "For everyone? Today only?"

Henry winked, "This promotion is reserved exclusively for people with the last name of ‘Jones’, and a first name of ‘Finley’."

Finley's eyes bulged. This couldn’t be a simple coincidence. Maybe it was even a sign that this journey was her destiny.

She remembered her question as she stepped off the bus. 

"Henry," she said. "Is your mother named ‘Mrs. Stevens’?"

Henry smiled sadly, "Nope. But with all this talk about mothers, I just might go and visit mine. I think I'd like that."

"I think she would, too," said Finley. 

She got off and waved goodbye to the bus as it drove away.


	9. Brainstorm

Coraline was sick of Police Detectives Smith and Wesson. Nearly two days had passed and Finley was not home where she belonged. It seemed to Coraline that the two detectives searched in all the wrong directions and asked all the wrong questions.

"I'm convinced that she must have gone to Oregon, to meet with my so-called 'old friend'," she had told Smith earlier that day.

"Don't you worry, ma'am," he had replied. "Your daughter's safety is our first priority. Right Wesson?" 

The stocky officer nodded, but didn’t speak. (He never did.) 

"And we won't rest until Finley is safe and sound."

Coraline tried to control her temper, "I'm sure you're doing the best you can, but don't you think you should investigate  _ all _ the clues? The letter my daughter received is certainly a clue."

Smith patted her hand, "All in good time."

Coraline hadn't had the nerve to speak her mind, but now that almost forty-eight hours had disappeared, it was different now. These so-called 'detectives' had, in her opinion, failed. They were now sitting in her house, trying to explain their lack of success.

"You know what I think?" Coraline said with gritted teeth.

"No, I don't," replied Detective Smith, biting into a slice of toast.

"I think you aren't even detectives. And if you are, you shouldn't be. Is this your first case?" 

"I'll have you know that I've been in the police force for almost my entire life!" Smith told her, shocked by her accusations. "Why, I started my career as a telephone operator at branch in Ashland; then I was promoted to chief. Of course, I was the only one on the staff at that time, but it still counts. The point is, I'm a dependable and experienced detective. And so is my partner, Wesson."

"Can he even talk?"

Smith looked over at his partner, who was sitting beside him. "Of course, he just prefers not to. Show her what you do, Wesson."

Police Detective Wesson stood up and flexed his muscles. He sucked in a huge breath. Then he let loose a blood-curdling yell and plunged his hand down onto the kitchen table. There was a sickening noise. 

_ I hope that wasn't his hand,  _ thought Coraline,  _ or maybe I hope it was _ .

Detective Smith looked smug, "There, you see?" He indicated the place where Wesson had attacked the table. Coraline gasped. There was a dent about the size of a banana.

"Sorry about your table," Smith apologized. Coraline didn't answer. "Er, we'd, uh, better be moving along. Lots of things to do." The two men exited the house. Coraline watched them leave. She heard their police car start up. Her head sank into her hands.

_ I wish that I could sleep, and when I wake up everything would be back to normal, _ Coraline thought.  _ But I can't and it won't. I must  _ **_do_ ** _ something. I have to go to Oregon! The police don’t think she’s capable of making it to Oregon alone, but I know Finley. _

Coraline packed haphazardly, throwing clothes into her suitcase at random. She ran out to her car (a small VW Bug), and set the suitcase in the trunk. She got into the front seat and turned the key in the ignition. Then, just as the sun vanished from view, Coraline set off. She would drive through the night. 

_ At least I won’t have to worry about falling asleep on the road. _


	10. Reopening

Finley did not reach the Pink Palace until the moon was high in the sky. At this lonely time of night, it was as if the bright stars twinkled solely for her— guiding and illuminating her path. 

_ But that’s silly. The stars are millions of miles away, and even older than they are far. _

(Still, the idea that a multitude of stars were watching over her made Finley feel a little braver than she would’ve felt otherwise.)

Finley caught her first glimpse of the Pink Palace as she turned a bend in the road. 

_ It’s not pink,  _ was the first thought that popped into her head. 

(Finley mildly disliked pink, and was cheered that her mother’s childhood home was not, in fact, a bright shade of the color.)

Maybe it had been, years ago. But now the peeling paint was so faded it really had no color at all.

She soon forgot about colors, because she was busy noticing other things. There appeared to be at least two other apartments in the house (besides the main one), because there were some stairs leading up, and some stairs leading down.

She hiked up the creaky front steps. There was an ancient rocking chair, which she sat in. 

"I suppose it's a bit late," she said. "Mother’s old friend is sleeping." 

She stared up at the stars. 

"I suppose I should find somewhere to sleep."

A noise caught her attention. It had come from inside the building, she was sure. There it was again: a creaking. Or perhaps a squeaking.

Finley tiptoed to the door (which was a dull greenish color), and put her ear to it. 

She listened. 

Yes, there was certainly something in there. 

_ Most likely a mouse, _ she thought.

She tried the door handle, just to see what would happen. To her delight, it was unlocked.

"Perhaps he knew I was coming, and left this door open so that I'd have somewhere to spend the night," she reasoned. She couldn't think of anything she wanted more at the moment than a warm cozy bed. 

So she opened the door to the flat and went inside.

Finley wasn’t sure how she had imagined her mother’s childhood home to be furnished, but she found herself disappointed nonetheless. Only a few dusty chairs and a table greeted her tired traveler feet. Finley explored through all the rooms but one.

_ The bed won’t be in here _ , she thought, but hoped she was mistaken. 

She crept in, somewhat nervous about what she might find in an abandoned flat in the dim dark of the night. 

Finley wasn't afraid of the dark, not really. 

She just prefered the light.

There was nothing in this room, either, except...

...there was another door. A sliver of light shone from behind it. Finley was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

She opened the door wide and stepped inside.


	11. Home

When Coraline reached the Pink Palace a little after midnight. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

_ She's got to be here,  _ Coraline told herself, willing it to be true.

She parked the car in the shade of a large tree and locked the doors. As she hastened towards the house, something bubbled into her brain. It was a memory.

_ "But Daaad,” an eleven-year-old Coraline Jones protested, “I don't want to move!" _

_ She stomped her foot firmly. _

_ Her dad looked apologetic, "Your mother and I need a place in the country to do our work for the catalogue," he explained. "And no amount of stomping will change that, my dizzy dreamer." _

_ "How could you even think about moving?" Coraline continued her tirade. "My friends are here! My whole life is here!" _

_ Her dad shrugged, “Maybe you can make a new life in Oregon. You know, reinvent yourself. Mom might even let you dye your hair,” he chuckled. _

_ Young Coraline went to see her mother. _

_ "Are we seriously moving to Oregon?" she demanded. _

_ Her mother sighed and rolled her eyes, "Yes, Coraline, we are."  _

_ Coraline moaned, and plopped down on a stool at the kitchen counter.  _

_ "You could make it easier for all of us," her mother told her. "Your father and I don't like it any more than you do. You think I want to leave this house?" She motioned around the lovely Victorian-era building the Jones family currently called home. _

_ Young Coraline groaned, "But what about my friends? What about school? What about—" _

_ "You'll get to say goodbye. I heard something about throwing you a goodbye party next week. And as far as school is concerned, we'll figure things out when we get there.” _

The memory faded.

Coraline found herself returned to reality. She tried to push the memory back and barely succeeded. 

She shivered, partly from the shock of the remembrance, and partly from the crisp morning air. The Oregon summers had been chilly, but now... 

Coraline found herself wishing she had packed a warmer coat. 

It was eerily quiet out, the only audible sounds being insects. No birds chirping. No humans, either, as far as Coraline could tell.

_ I wonder if new people have moved-in. It has been over fifteen years since I left _ , she thought.  _ A lot can change in that time _ . 

She knew she had changed. She'd moved to New York, something she had always dreamed of doing. She reconnected with Spencer there and they'd begun dating. His feelings for her weren’t entirely clear, and neither were hers for him. But it was nice to have a fellow adult in the house.

That was another change. She'd felt that if she could save just one child from a life without a parent, she would be doing her part to help the world. 

So she had looked into adoption. 

She was particular in the child she wanted, and it had taken a few years to locate the right girl. She had to be intelligent, well-read, and curious.

_ Maybe that's where I went wrong _ , Coraline mused.  _ Maybe if Finley wasn’t so curious... _

She silently scolded herself for placing the blame on Finley. It wasn’t her fault. She wanted to find out about...

Coraline refocused. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door to her old flat. She had no idea of what she would say if a stranger opened the door.

Luckily, she didn't have to say anything. The door remained shut. 

She tried the handle. 

Locked.

Coraline walked down the familiar flight of stairs to Miss Spink and Miss Forcible's flat. They had been beautiful (and famous) actresses in their golden days, but those days were now a far off dream.

Coraline rapped on the door forcefully, her need for information overcoming her politeness. She waited for a few minutes. She heard nothing, nor did she see any change through the dusty window in the door.

_ I suppose it's empty now _ , Coraline thought.

She hurried around to the opposite side of the Palace, where a staircase led up through the foggy night sky toward Mr. B’s flat. 

"I bet he's still as strange as ever," Coraline couldn’t help but smile. 

The rusted steps wiggled as she hurried up them, but she couldn’t stop now.

Without warning, another flashback enveloped her.

_ Young Coraline ran up the stairs to the Other Mr. B's apartment. She reached the top, and was horrified to see the Other Wybie's jacket flying from a pole that stuck out from the house. It looked just like a flag, but much less patriotic. _

_ "Evil witch!" screamed the younger version of Coraline. "I'm not scared!" _

The memory faded back into the recesses of her mind as she reached the top landing.

"Please be here," she whispered. She stepped closer to the door, listening. 

She heard something! 

It sounded like voices coming from deep within. She knocked on the door. 

The voices stopped immediately. 

She knocked again. 

Nothing happened.

“Please!” she begged. “Let me in!” 

The door wouldn’t open no matter how she shook the handle. Finley must be here; she had to find a way in, she— 

A voice called out, "Who's there?" It sounded far away.

"Coraline Jones!" she answered. Her voice sounded very loud in the still morning air. The sun was still low in the sky. 

She waited.

The door shuddered, then opened as if being pulled by an invisible string. 

Coraline stepped inside.

"Hello?" she called. 

The flat smelled as strongly as it had seventeen years ago. But it wasn't a cheese-y smell anymore: it was a medicine-y smell. It burned Coraline's nose.

She found Mr. B in the back bedroom. He was lying in a tall bed, slumped up against pillows. His head was tilted at an odd angle.

"Hello, Mr. B,” Coraline stepped closer. “It's me, Coraline."

He barely raised his head, "Ah, it is you, isn't it? But you...you don't look the same."

Coraline bit her lip, "I've grown up." 

Mr. B was silent. Coraline realized he must be tremendously old.

"Mr. B, I came here all the way from New York. I'm looking for a little girl who went missing. Her name is Finley. She has red hair. Have you seen her?"

He spoke in a whisper, "I know about things that go missing. My mice went missing. They never came back. Now all I do is—"

"Please, Mr. B," Coraline pleaded. "Have you seen her?"

He looked up and shook his head slowly, "No."

Coraline wanted to crumple up on the floor; what could she do now? 

But she knew the answer.

She had to find the 'old friend' who'd started this mess: Wyborn.

"Do you have a place to stay?" Mr. B's voice crinkled around the edges.

Coraline shook her head, "No. But I think I have to find Wyborn. You remember him, don't you?"

Mr. B nodded, and some of his strength seemed to return, "Of course. I could never forget a person like him. Besides, beets are good for memory."

_ He always loved beets, _ Coraline remembered. 

"I need to speak with him immediately," she told the old man in the bed. 

This time, he took a while to answer.

"I'm tired. So are you. Why don’t we wait until morning?"

"No, you don't understand. My daughter—"

"—Will be fine. But  **you** won't be if you don’t get some rest. Sleep is good for the soul."

As Mr. B. said the words, Coraline realized he was right. She had gone at least forty-eight hours without sleep. She needed either coffee, an energy shot, or rest. And she knew which one would be the easiest to get. She would continue her search first thing in the morning, when she was rested, refreshed, and ready to confront Wyborn.

"Fine," she told him. "If sleep will help me find Finley, I’ll try it."

"Good, good," said Mr. B. soothingly. "Henrietta will show you to the guest bedroom..." His voice faded and deep snores began rocking the bed.

Coraline looked around. Had he hired a maid to assist him in his old age? She thought that— 

"Begaaawk!" The sound came from a chicken. It was staring up at Coraline.

"You must be Henrietta," Coraline sighed. "Mr. B said you would show me where I can sleep."

The chicken led her to another small room. It had an old military cot on the wooden floor. 

At the sight of it, Coraline felt as though she couldn't take one more step without falling into a deep sleep.

"Goodnight, Henrietta," she mumbled, collapsing onto the cot. 

"Begawk!"


	12. Awakening

The sun was awake. That was the first thing Coraline noticed as she stirred. Light streamed through a window in the roof.

_ It looks nice _ , Coraline thought. Then she remembered where she was. She jumped to her feet, still tired, but not as much.

She snuck into Mr. B's room, and saw that he was still asleep. Or dead. She hoped it was the first.

_ I’ve got to find Wybie. _

Coraline made her way out of the flat. She could drive into town and ask around—surely someone would know his whereabouts. Finding Wybie would lead her to Finley, she was certain. If not...

She had once tried sliding down the stair railing as a child. (It had ended in poorly.) Now, she raced down the steps until her feet touched the damp ground. 

She noticed someone walking through the mist about thirty yards away. A glimmer of hope flashed.

"Hey!" she called. 

No answer from the round figure. 

She ran after it, squinting through the fog. She caught up quickly. Miss Spink was no Olympian sprinter, that was for sure.

"Miss Spink?" Coraline said, her disappointment palpable.

The old actress stared at her for a few moments, not believing her eyes. She removed her glasses, wiped them off, and set them back on the bridge of her nose, "Why, it's Caroline Jones, come to visit! What a pleasure!”

"I'm not here for pleasure, Miss Spink," Coraline relayed quickly. "My daughter has gone missing, but I think she may be here in Ashland."

"Good Lord! I didn't know you had a daughter! Nobody tells me these things.”

"I adopted her, but—never mind that. Do you remember Wyborn Lovat?"

"Of course I do, dearie. Why, he came by for a visit yesterday. Such a sweet boy. Do you know what he brought me? Flowers! Just like when I trod the boards," Miss Spink swooned.

"So he is here," Coraline clenched her fists.

Miss Spink waved a hand in the air, "Calm yourself, Caroline. You’re behaving like a theatre rookie about to go on for her first major scene." 

Coraline opened her mouth to speak, but Spink cut her off. 

"Yes, I know where he lives, dear.  **But** I'll only tell if you accompany me for a quick stroll, for old times sake."

"But, Miss Spink, my daughter’s life could be at stake—"

"My dear Caroline, you haven't even had breakfast yet, I daresay. You're not thinking clearly. Things can wait until after our turn around the garden." Miss Spink began waddling down the dirt path.

_ What else can I do? _ thought Coraline. She caught up to the old lady.

Miss Spink huffed and puffed cheerily as they went, "I love the work you're putting in for our gender in New York, Caroline."

"Thank you, Miss Spink. But my name was, is, and always will be: ‘Coraline’."

Miss Spink tilted her head, "Do you mean to tell me that I've been calling you by the wrong name all these years?" She sounded astonished.

"Yes. Yes, you have," said Coraline.

"You should have corrected me earlier," laughed the old actress.

_ I have. Many times. _

“Forcible will be astonished; she—” 

Miss Spink stopped moving. She looked as though she might faint.

"Miss Spink! Are you alright?" Coraline exclaimed, stepping closer in case she needed to save the woman from falling.

"Yes, yes. I'm quite recovered now,” Miss Spink said in a voice that indicated she wasn’t. “I just forget sometimes.” 

Coraline stared blankly.

“Oh, dear. I suppose you don't know."

"Know what?" asked Coraline.

"Forcible...is up there with our dear departed angels now. Peeking down at us from behind the curtain of the stars."

_ Forcible? Dead _ ? Coraline thought. It seemed impossible. But then, she had felt the same way about the news of her mother. 

"I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Spink. I know how hard that can be. My mother—"

Miss Spink interrupted, "You can imagine now that Forcible is gone, I have no drive to do anything. I've given up knitting. I haven’t acted in twenty—in a  _ several _ years, that is."

Coraline could stand it no longer.

"My daughter has vanished," Coraline said. "And if I don't find her soon..." She couldn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t want to.

Miss Spink sniffed daintily, "Very well. I'll tell you where to find Mr. Lovat."

She gave Coraline directions to Wyborn’s current address. 

Coraline waved thankfully as she ran towards her car.

"She's still extraordinary, even as an adult," Miss Spink marveled. She looked up to the sky, "Wouldn't you agree, Forcible, my love?"

Coraline floored the gas pedal. Even though these roads were bumpy, she couldn't afford to take them slowly. She had wasted enough time talking with that old bat. She had a daughter to save.


	13. Unraveling

The closer Coraline got to Wyborn’s house, the harder she found it to breath.

Miss Spink's directions were clear. Also, Coraline had seen the building when she first drove into town. It was a massive apartment complex, one of the first large building projects completed in Ashland.

Coraline wondered why he had chosen to stay in Ashland. Maybe he couldn't afford to be anywhere else. Prices were rising these days. In fact, if not for Spencer contributing to the house payments, she and Finley would be out on the street.

_ That can't be the only reason I’m with him _ , Coraline thought. But she couldn't think of any others.

She reached the apartment building within ten minutes. Miss Spink had told her it took twenty. 

What Miss Spink had neglected to tell her was the apartment number. 

She ran inside. There was a clerk standing behind an imposing metal desk.

"Excuse me,” Coraline tried to catch her breath. “Which apartment belongs to Wyborn Lovat?"

"Number three,” said the big woman. "But he's not in."

"Do you know where he might have gone?"

The woman hesitated, not sure whether she should give out this information. Coraline put on her most innocent face, and it worked. 

"Sure do. The diner over on Third Street. Mr. Lovat usually eats breakfast there."

Coraline didn't thank the woman. She was in too much of a hurry.

She had passed the diner on the way to the apartment. 

Coraline maneuvered into an empty parking spot, got out, and strode into the small-town diner.

Wyborn was sitting alone in a corner booth, eating eggs from a square plate. 

Without hesitation, she marched up to him.

"Where is she?"

He looked up, his mouth full. His eyes widened and the food almost came back out. 

"Coraline?” He gulped, “W-What are you doing here?"

Her gaze could have cut through boulders. 

"I'm looking for Finley. After reading your letter, she ran off to meet you. Where have you hidden her?” Coraline lowered her voice and leaned in, “And don't try anything funny; the police have this place surrounded."

He peered through the window, "Really?" 

Coraline hesitated. 

"Look, Coraline. I don't want to start this off on the wrong foot. We did that the first time we met. Sit down." 

He motioned to the seat across the table. She remained standing. People were beginning to stare.

"What do you mean 'start off on the wrong foot'?” Coraline burst out. “You've kidnapped my daughter! For someone who doesn’t want to start off on the wrong foot, you’re doing a damned good job at it."

His eyes were as big as his plate (though less square). 

"Kidnapped? You think I would— Listen, Coraline, I don't know what kind of grudge you're still holding against me, but I’ve never kidnapped anyone. Especially not your daughter."

Coraline wavered. He seemed honest. But what about the letter—and the packages?

"But,” she protested. “If you didn't want to take Finley, why send all those packages? Why the letter leading her here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've never sent you letters. Or packages. Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I wrote an actual letter.”

"I'm confused. If it wasn't you, Wyborn, than who?"

"First of all, call me Wybie. And second...I could help you out. I'm kind of an amateur detective now." 

He grinned at her. There was a piece of egg stuck to his teeth.

Coraline raised an eyebrow, "Seriously? You?"

His eyes narrowed defensively, "What, you don't think I’d make a good detective? I've already helped the police out on a number of cases."

_ I was wrong, _ Coraline thought.  _ It couldn't be Wybie— the eternal goofball. Of course it couldn't. _

"All right. Anything to find Finley."

"Okay,” Wybie said, lowering his voice. “Do you know anyone who holds a grudge against you? Anyone who would want to hurt you or your family?"

"No," Coraline said dubiously. "I’ve never been one to make enemies. Not even in my political work.” 

She thought harder, “Except..."

"I still remember," he said softly. "Do you think she—or it—could be the—"

"No!" 

Coraline couldn't accept this answer. 

_ But what if he's right? _ she asked herself.  _ He can’t be. _

"I mean, that was so long ago,” she said. “We were children. In fact, I've been thinking that perhaps it was all a game—"

"It was no game." 

Wybie's voice was serious, "Coraline, after you left the Pink Palace, another family moved into your flat. Everything seemed normal until a few weeks after they'd arrived. They started complaining about spooky noises. Things squeaking in the middle of the night. Little things. I told them not to worry about it. One week later, they packed up everything and left in the middle of the night. Never told me what caused them to leave that night, but I have my suspicions."

He paused to take a drink.

Coraline avoided his eyes, "You’re telling me that—"

"Yes, Coraline. The Other Mother—the Beldam— is still alive. And she wants revenge."

Coraline felt like she sinking into quicksand, "I've got to save Finley. I've got to do something."

"Do you even have a plan?" Wybie questioned. 

Coraline closed her eyes and choked back her fear: "We open a door."


	14. Captured

Her body wouldn’t stop shaking. 

Her eyes were focused on the creature lurking a few yards away, hidden in the shadows.

"My mother will come for me."

She tried to sound strong, but her voice was weak from fear (and thirst).

"Exactly," the creature said in a voice that was half whisper and half hiss.

Finley made sure to raise her voice, just in case her mother  **was** near, and needed to pinpoint her location. 

"My mother is very brave."

The creature nodded. Finley saw a flash as its mouth opened in a wicked smile, "Perhaps. But she can’t escape me this time."

Was this vile beast trying to mess with her head? 

"She's escaped from you before?" Finley asked, curious despite her current predicament.

The monster seemed to shrink for a brief instant, "I wasn't prepared for someone so strong. And besides, she had help,” it snarled.

It turned it’s head towards Finley, who tried to avoid looking into the shining button eyes. 

"She won't have help this time. I've spent years planning this. Nothing will get in my way."

Finley was so very scared. She’d never been this frightened before. "W-What about mother's old friend? He’ll help her rescue me."

"Perhaps. We'll wait and see. But remember, I'll win in the end. My kind always does."

Finley took a deep breath, "There are...more like you?"

It smiled and tapped one of its buttons. "We are a shrinking population. But yes."

"Where do the others live—"

The creature rushed at her and clapped a cold, metallic hand over her mouth. 

Finley was too scared to cry.

"Stay quiet until your mother comes. Can't have her find us right away now, can we? It's got to be a game."

Finley squirmed and the beast let go of her mouth. It crept back into the shadows.

"Let's see if she still likes to explore.”


	15. Doors

Coraline and Wybie made it back to the Pink Palace in record time. (Coraline had driven. Wybie had shut his eyes and crossed his fingers.)

"I guess you're a better driver than your mom, huh?" joked Wybie.

Coraline couldn't believe he would say such a thing; then she realized he must not know.

She unbuckled, pretending she hadn't heard. "Is the door to the flat locked?" 

"It is," he said. "But don’t worry. I happen to have a key." He produced a small silver key and dropped it into Coraline's palm.

"Right," she said, jumping out of the car. "Let's go."

"Right," Wybie echoed. "Um, Coraline?"

"What?"

"You  **do** have a plan, right? For after we bust in?"

She glared, "I'm rescuing Finley. Are you coming with me or not?"

Wybie gulped, "Uh, yeah. Of course. I just—never mind."

They ran up to the dull green door. Coraline inserted the key and turned the lock. The door opened reluctantly, whining and scratching.

"How long has this place been empty?" Coraline asked.

"Well, I guess it’s been about-"

Coraline shot her hand out, "Stop!"

Shocked, Wybie halted mid-step. "Huh?"

She pointed. 

A trail of footprints led through the dust.

"She  _ is _ here," Coraline whispered, a bit proud. Not many kids could make the trip from New York to Oregon on their own.

" _ Someone _ is here," Wybie said, wagging a finger. “Detectives don’t jump to conclusions.”

Coraline ignored him, "The footprints lead into—oh, no. Wybie, look!"

The footprints entered a room and ended at a door in the wall.

Coraline tried the door, but it was locked or stuck or both both. "Do you have a key to this door?"

"Yeah, but—" Wybie tried to reason with her. "We can't just jump through some magical portal without a plan. Don't you think we should at least tell Miss Spink where we're going?"

"Finley is in there with—” Coraline broke off. "Every second we waste here could mean the difference for her. Unlock the door!"

He did, reaching into his pocket for the key, and placing it into the lock. 

They pulled it open together. 

 

They gasped in unison.

 

"It's all bricked up; we can't get through!" Coraline was desperate now. "How are we going to get to her? There has to be another way."

"Clever," Wybie said, tapping his chin. "The Other Mother knew we would try and get through here, so she closed the portal entrance."

“Clever? Of course it knew we were coming,” Coraline snapped. “And don’t call it that. It may have disguised itself as a mother, but it’s nothing of the sort.”

“But it rhymes,” Wybie said. “Also, calling it the ‘Beldam’ makes it sound freakier.”

She closed her eyes, "Just—never mind. What are we going to do now?” She opened one eye to glare at him, “And that’s a rhetorical question; I’m not interested in any of your deranged schemes.”

 

Wybie looked at the floor. He wanted to help Coraline. He had to do what he thought was best.

"Hey, Coraline? Do the police know where you are?"

She heaved a sigh, "No. They're probably still in New York, digging up meaningless clues." 

 

Feeling defeated and powerless, Coraline left the flat.

Wybie bounded past her, "I'll be right back. I just have to do a quick, um, errand..."

She watched him leave. Then she walked up the hill. When she got to the top, she looked down at the Pink Palace and it’s grounds. She could see everything from this point. Everything but how to save her daughter.

_ How can I get to her, _ she thought, i _ f I can't get through the door behind the wallpaper? _

Something flickered inside her, then burst into light: a memory.

The younger version of herself was speaking to the Other Father.

__

_ "Where's the Other Mother?" Coraline asked. _

__

_ "Out," he replied. "Fixing the doors. There are some vermin problems." _

__

_ What could he have meant? _ Coraline’s mind raced. _ I never realized exactly what he said back then, about doors, but could it be possible that—  _

Another memory struck.

_ Young Coraline and the cat were walking together in the Other World. _

__

_ "There's ways in and ways out of places like this that even she doesn't know about," the cat told young Coraline. _

Coraline gasped, “There’s another door!”

 

Immediately, she was on her feet, scrambling down the hillside. 

As she neared the Pink Palace, her newfound hope faded. Yes, she knew that there was another way in. But finding it was another matter entirely.

_ Finding the door will take time. Finley doesn’t have time. _

She was walking past Miss Spink's flat when a final recollection seeped through her mental blockade.

_ "There's something we should tell you before you leave, Caroline." It was Miss Spink talking. Young Coraline was sitting on the couch in Spink and Forcible’s flat. _

_ "What is it?" asked young Coraline. _

_ "There is a well, a very ancient and dangerous well," Miss Forcible told her. _

_ "Yes," continued Spink, "and you should never go near it! They say it's so deep that it has no bottom! Imagine that!" _

Young Coraline looked like she was trying to imagine it, but current Coraline had seen and heard enough. 

 

She was already running.

_ Why didn't I think of it before? They said the well was 'dangerous'. That must mean it has something to do with the Beldam! And if it's bottomless...that could mean it's an entrance! _

The old well proved hard to find after seventeen years. It was grown over with vines, even more so than it had been when she'd first arrived with her family at the Pink Palace. 

 

Coraline knelt on the ground, tearing vines and branches away from the well. She slid the heavy wooden cover (which was quite rotted) off to one side. 

 

She looked down, but saw only shadows.

_ Maybe I should get a rope, or a light. _

 

She gazed down for another moment, and then—she heard a rustling noise in the bushes to her left.

"Meow!" 

 

The wild noise shocked Coraline and she lost her footing. 

  
Her scream caught in her throat as she fell into the well.


	16. Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, I skipped this chapter when posting. Everyone reading it for the past few years must've been so confused!

She fell down, down, down. 

It was relaxing, in a way. Cool air breezed across her face as the light from above gently faded.

Coraline cried out as she hit the bottom, expecting to find herself covered in murky water or slammed against ancient earth.

 

To her relief, neither of these things occurred. 

 

She felt around as her eyes adjusted. 

 

_ Soft...and spring-y? _

 

Coraline had fallen onto the mattress of a wiry antique bed.

_ That’s a relief. But what is a bed doing here? _

It was dark, but not completely. A sketchy glow illuminated the cramped space.

 

_ It looks like a closet,  _ she thought.

 

And then she knew where she had landed.

_ The space behind the mirror! It must be directly under the well. Either that, or there's some kind of magic portal in the well that leads here. _

 

Coraline steeled herself.

 

_ So the Other World is real. No denying it. And I'm inside it... _

 

_ I hope I’ll be as lucky now as I was then. _

Getting out was easy enough. All she had to do was step through the mirror. (Though it had taken a few moments to find out which of the four sides was the one with the mirror.)

Coraline half-expected to see the Other Mother on the other side, waiting for her. 

 

But no, she found herself quite alone in the flat. 

 

She checked the kitchen, but there was no sign of anything or anyone. 

 

It looked the same as when she'd last seen it, though perhaps dustier. The parlor appeared unchanged as well. 

 

Coraline walked into the living room and saw that it was bare. No furniture lined the walls, no artwork decorated them.

"There used to be a snow globe on the mantle above this fireplace. My parents were trapped inside it..." 

 

It sounded silly. 

 

How could her parents fit inside the snow globe? And why didn’t they remember their time inside it? 

 

Questions like these always puzzled Coraline.

_ Did I imagine the whole thing? Was it a way to escape my boredom? Am I just dreaming now, too? Maybe I've hit my head on the bottom of the well; that would explain it. _

Coraline explored all over the flat, but found nothing. 

 

She sat down on the floor to rest. 

 

"If the Beldam has hidden Finley, where would she be?" 

 

Coraline struggled to recall if the monster had ever hinted about hiding places. A memory came to her quickly this time. Like a dreamer awakening from a long slumber, her past was slowly revealing itself.

_ "Wait," Young Coraline said. "We're not finished yet, are we?"  _

 

_ The Other Mother looked at her angrily, but smiled sweetly. _

__

_ "No," she said. "I suppose not. After all, you still need to find your parents, don't you?" _

__

_ "Yes," said Coraline. _

__

_ "Well?" said the Other Mother. "Produce them. Would you like to take a look at the cellar again? I have other interesting things hidden down there, you know." _

Coraline broke into a run. 

 

She flew out the front door. She went around to the flat opposite. The one with a cellar. 

 

The key was still under the mat, where she had left it so long ago. 

 

The door groaned as the handle turned.

"Finley?" Coraline couldn't help but exclaim. "Oh, where was that trapdoor?" 

 

She darted from room to room, until...

 

There it was!

Coraline pulled up on the metal ring. 

 

It barely budged. 

 

_ Please _ !

 

She kept tugging, and just when she thought her arms would break, the door burst open.

Cold, foul-smelling air wafted up from the hole in the floor, filling Coraline's lungs and almost causing her to choke.

There was a light down there. In the cellar. In the Beldam's lair.

Finley was down there. She had to be. 

 

Coraline put her right foot on the first stair, then kept putting one foot in front of the other until she was at the bottom. 

 

She rounded the corner and— 

"Mother!" 

 

It was Finley, bound to a chair with web-like chains.  

 

"Mother, look out!"

Coraline whirled around and gasped as she laid eyes upon the creature that had plagued her nightmares for the last seventeen years.


	17. Sacrifice

"Hello, Coraline." 

 

The Beldam's voice was dank and drafty. 

 

"How thoughtful of you to drop in."

Coraline took a steadying breath and stepped forward, "You kidnapped my daughter. Of course I came."

"Oh? Is that the  **only** reason you've returned?" the Beldam asked, its voice a lilting taunt.

Coraline clenched her teeth, "Why else would I come back to this—"

The Beldam waved a metal claw in the air, "Oh, never mind that. I know what you want." 

 

It looked at Finley, who was still sitting nervously at the wooden work table. 

 

"I know what both of you want."

Coraline was at her daughter’s side in a heartbeat. Finley didn't stand up, but Coraline hugged her anyway.

"Are you okay? Did she—it—hurt you?"

"I'm all right, Mother." Finley tilted her head up and whispered, "I'm not a bit frightened. Now that you're here, everything will be fine."

Coraline swallowed a lump in her throat. 

 

She turned and faced the Beldam, "What do you want?"

"What do I want? Lots of things."

Coraline took a step towards the Other Mother, trying to look as intimidating as possible, "Why did you steal Finley?"

The Beldam's face turned into a cruel grimace, "Oh, that."

Coraline noticed that the Beldam had two shiny claws. Not just one. 

 

_ Dropping the hand down the well didn’t work as well as I’d thought. _

"It's simple, really," the creature explained. "One of you can leave. One of you must stay.” 

 

It stared at Coraline, “I don't care who does what. I'll give you a short amount of time to think it over and discuss it—privately."

Coraline watched the Beldam slink off into the dark, but she got the feeling that it was keeping close enough to watch and hear what was being done and said.

"Oh, Finley," Coraline lamented, seeing her daughter’s trusting face.

"You have a plan, don't you mother," Finley said matter-of-factly.

"No," Coraline whispered, so softly that neither Finley nor the Beldam could hear, "Not this time."

A few minutes passed. The Other Mother's metal legs scraped the floor as it came back into the light.

 

"Time's up."

 

Coraline squeezed Finley's hand tightly and then let it go. She walked toward the Beldam. 

"Let Finley go. This isn’t her fight. She deserves none of this. No child does.”

"So," it said, in a voice that made Coraline's stomach churn, "you are choosing to let Finley go back to her world." 

 

Coraline nodded. 

 

"And you, Coraline, are staying here—with me— forever?" 

 

Coraline's hands shook, but she clenched them tight and nodded. 

 

"Quite a sacrifice, isn't it?" the Other Mother purred, looking at Finley. "She would have made a fine addition to my collection."

"Wait," Coraline said. "You have to swear to let her go. Swear that if I stay here with you, you will never have anything to do with her ever again. No letters, no packages, no dolls."

"Very well. And I suppose you wouldn't want me to swear by my right hand again, would you?"

"No," Coraline said.

"So be it. I swear on the dead and rotting carcass of that disgusting little vermin that I will never touch a hair on Finley’s head as long as I shall live.”

 

_ Vermin? _

 

The Other Mother grinned, “Don’t you remember? The one who cheated by helping you win our little game?”

Coraline gasped.

 

_ She must mean the cat; that wonderful wusspuss. He’s dead? _

"Your time is running short," the Beldam reminded Coraline. "I've been waiting for this moment for years, and I'm not sure how much longer I can stand it."

As Coraline looked into the black button eyes, she saw that they were different from when she'd last seen them.

They were no longer hungry.

 

They were starved.

"It's a deal," Coraline said at length. 

 

The buttons flashed. 

 

"But," Coraline went on, "only if you show me proof that you've kept your word."

The Beldam didn't hesitate, "Perfect. You’ve made the right choice, Coraline. You take after your father. But then, you already knew that, didn’t you—"

The Beldam stopped speaking because Coraline was no longer listening. She was in the process of explaining the situation to the child.

  
_ Very well, _ the Beldam thought. Mother and daughter would never see each other again.


	18. Guilty

Finley stumbled out of the tunnel and into the empty flat, tears falling from her eyes. They plopped onto the floor, sending up small clouds of dust. A mouse, who had been leisurely relaxing in a patch of sunlight, scampered away, terrified. 

 

But Finley didn't see any of these things. She was still thinking about her mother's parting words.

"Finley," she had said, "this is the way it has to be. You're still young. You'll have a family of your own someday, maybe. And friends. You have your own story to create. I've... sort of failed at my own story," Coraline avoided Finley's eyes.

"No," Finley cried. "You haven't! I shouldn't have run away. This is all my fault."

Her mother stopped her, "No! I should never have given you a reason to run. I started this— and now I'm going to end it."

Finley protested, but Coraline quieted her. "I want you to do something for me, okay?" 

 

Finley tried to speak, but could only nod. 

 

"I want you to leave this place. Leave and never come back. You'll be safe, and I'll be—I'll be happy knowing that."

The creature had torn them apart and led Finley back to the flat with the door in the wall.

"Mother!" Finley had sobbed.

"No, Finley,” her mother had said. “Let's not part like that. Be brave!"

So she tried. 

 

The monster pushed her into the tunnel. 

 

She had made it halfway through when she hesitated. 

 

"Don't look back, Finley! Never look back!" Her mother had called, sounding very sad. That's when Finley had started crying again.

And she hadn't stopped since coming out of the Other World.

 

_ She can't stay there _ , she told herself.  _ Who knows what that creature will do to her? _

_ But she had no choice. It was either her or me, and she saved me by sacrificing herself.  _

 

_ If Mother wasn’t strong enough to defeat it, then how could I? _

 

A book Finley had recently read spoke of the importance of honoring last wishes. Her mother had told her to never come back. And to be brave. It was her final request.

"Wow, you guys sure move fast!" 

 

She heard a man's voice from outside. It was muffled, but audible.

A different voice answered the man. A deeper voice. 

 

"We were already on our way here. We got a tip."

"A tip?"

"Yes. And now we  **know** you wrote those letters, Mr. Lovat. Please come with us. Running is futile."

She heard someone (probably Mr. Lovat) dash off. 

 

_ Wait a minute… where have I heard that name before? _

“Lovat," she whispered. "Wyborn Lovat! Mother's old friend! The one who wrote the letters!"

She raced into a room on the other side of the house, searching for a window. 

 

There! 

 

And it was low enough for her to reach. Finley pulled it open. There he was, sprinting into the forest.

"Mr. Lovat," she called, raising her voice just enough to be heard. "It's me, Finley!"

He froze, but looked in her direction. 

 

She waved, but not a friendly wave. (A desperate plea-for-help kind of wave.)

 

Mr. Lovat hurried towards her. He had curly, brown hair that looked like it had never been introduced to a comb.

"Hurry, Mr. Lovat," she urged. "Climb in! Those people chasing you, whoever they are, are getting closer!"

"Don't mind if I do," he grunted, hoisting himself up and clambering across the windowsill.

She helped him down and asked, "Why are they after you?"

His eyes darted away, "I'm not sure, exactly," he said, running a hand through his hair. He looked uncomfortable. "I called them because Coraline hadn't—"

"Yes? Hadn't what?” 

"You! You're not missing! I've found you!"

 "Actually, my mother found me first," she corrected him.

"She did?” His eyes widened, “Where is she?"

Now it was Finley's turn to be uncomfortable. 

"She stayed behind with that  _ thing _ ," her lower lip trembled. "One of us had to stay, so she—"

Wyborn was alarmed, "You mean you were with the Other Mother?"

"Metal claws and button eyes?" 

"That’s her all right.”

"Then yes, I was. And now the Other Mother has trapped  _ my _ mother back in her world."

"We have to help her!" Wyborn exclaimed. "We could go in the—"

Finley spoke, soft as a mouse, "She told me never to come back. It’s too dangerous. I have to honor her last request."

Wyborn clasped her shoulder, “Finley, that doesn't have to be her last request! We can’t just abandon her."

"I know,” Finley choked back tears. “But she was so upset. She made me promise—"

A loud bang echoed from the front of the flat. 

He gasped, “They broke down the door.”

 

He looked her square in the face, "Coraline needs our help. Ask yourself what she would do in your place."

Footsteps were coming closer. 

 

"Can’t run from the police; I have to turn myself in. That's the only way," Wyborn mumbled to himself. 

 

Then, speaking in an urgent whisper, "Finley, stay hidden until they leave. After it’s safe, go upstairs. You’ll find help there." 

 

He licked his lips nervously, "Got it?"

Finley wasn't exactly sure about this plan, but she knew there wasn't time to discuss it. 

 

"Got it."

"Good! Well—bye! Hope to meet you again soon, properly this time."

He ran out of the room. Finley heard him say, "Here I am! You've caught me! Don’t shoot!"

Once the men secured their runaway, they took a brief look around the flat. Luckily, they didn't come into the room where Finley hid, crouched in a corner shrouded by shadow.

She listened as his captors took him outside. She listened as a car started and they drove Mr. Lovat away. She listened as silence returned to fill the air. 

 

Then she thought about what Wyborn had said. 

 

_ What would Mother do in my place? _

 

But she’d known the answer before she’d asked the question.

"I can't keep my promise. I'm going back to save her. It's what she would do for me. Besides, it won't be her last request, if I successfully rescue her. I mean,  _ when _ I successfully rescue her."

Finley snuck outside and walked up the stairs to the flat at the top of the house.

  
_ I wonder what kind of helpful person could live up here? _


	19. Help

Finley’s legs began to give out on her as she reached the top landing. Her cheeks were still stained with tears, and her nose was runny. 

_ Don’t think,  _ she told herself.  _ Act _ !

 

She knocked on the door. 

 

There was no answer. 

 

She had no time to spare, so she tried the handle.

_ It’s unlocked! _

She held her nose as fumes from inside wafted out toward her. 

 

_ It smells like medicine,  _ thought Finley, with a healthy dose of disgust.

 

Finley and medicine were far from friendly. 

 

Once, when she was little (or more little, that is), someone at the orphanage had administered the wrong kind of medicine to her. She barely survived. It had taken all of her strength to pull through, and she didn't recover enough to even read a simple book for weeks. 

 

If that had been the only scent coming from the flat, Finley might have remained outside. She could find another way to save her mother, couldn't she?

But medicine was not the only fragrance emanating from the flat. Finley could just barely make out a faint whiff of...cheese! 

 

And with cheese to encourage her, she plunged inside.

_ At least it’s tidy, _ she thought. 

 

The boards creaked under her shoes. She got the feeling she was being watched. By whom or what, she did not know.

"Hello? Is anyone home?" 

 

From a back room came a reply, but too muffled to understand. 

 

"Hello? I was told I could find help here," she called, walking further.

"Galabushka?" The voice came from the room on Finley's right.

She blinked her eyes rapidly, took a deep breath, and entered. 

 

"I'm not sure who ‘galabushka’ is—but my name is Finley." 

 

A bed sat in the corner, and a lump sat in the bed. It sat up higher and Finley saw that it wasn't a lump, but a man. 

 

"I'm sorry to intrude, but I'm in need of assistance."

The man spoke. His voice was rough. It sounded like fingernails scraping on a blackboard. 

 

"Who are you?"

"Finley," said Finley. "My mother is in terrible trouble, and I was told someone here could help me."

He spoke slowly, as if just waking from a dream, "Your mother's name, it is...Coraline?"

"Yes. Do you know her?"

Finley waited for the man in the bed to answer her. 

 

At length, he mumbled, "My mice...your mother..."

Finley was intrigued, "You have mice?"

"I  _ had _ mice. No more."

"Oh." Finley pressed on, "So can you—"

"Your mother helped my mice. They called her 'Saviour'."

"Yes," Finley replied. 

 

(She had no idea what the man was babbling about, but knew that—when it came to elderly people—sometimes it was better to leave well enough alone.)

The man's voice was slightly stronger now, and more commanding: "Long ago, your mother invited a lonely old man to her garden party." 

 

Finley nodded as if she understood. 

 

"This man had never been invited to a party before. Though he was nervous, he accepted your mother's invitation. He went to her garden party. And it was one of the best times he ever had." 

 

He was sitting up straight now, and Finley could see his whiskers sticking out every which way. 

 

"Do you know who the man your mother invited to the party was, Finley?"

"No," said Finley. "I don't  _ know _ . But I  _ think _ the man might have been you."

A laugh bubbled up from deep inside him and blasted out of his mouth like an explosion. 

 

_ He probably hasn’t laughed in ages _ , Finley thought.

"Yes, Galabushka, it was I."

Finley smiled, thankful for a story from her mother’s childhood. 

 

"You know my name," she said politely. "But I don’t know your’s."

His smile seemed to stretch across his face for miles, "You can call me…Mr. B."

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. B. Now about my mother—"

"If I can help you to save your mother, I will."

Finley felt relief wash over her: the feeling of sharing a burden, rather than shouldering it alone. 

 

"Thank you, Mr. B!"

"Now! Why don't you help me out of this bed and tell me more about your mother’s trouble."

Twenty minutes later, Finley and Mr. B knocked on the door of Miss Spink's flat.

"I am feeling younger already!" Mr. B exclaimed, stretching his arms out. (They were very long arms.)

"I feel older, somehow," said Finley.

Mr. B reached down and patted her shoulder, "Do not worry, Finley. I am sure that with Miss Spink joining us, will be able to liberate your mother very soon, perhaps before nightfall. What do you think of that?"

"That," she replied, "would be wonderful."

The door opened to reveal a round old lady. An astonished expression crossed her face.

"Why, if it isn't the Amazing Mr. Bobo from upstairs, come to visit! And you've brought your daughter! I've been dying to meet her. Come in, come in," she motioned with her plump hands.

 

They came in.

"You are right about one thing, Miss Spink," Mr. B said kindly. "I am amazing. But this girl is not my daughter. This is Coraline’s daughter.” 

"Coraline’s daughter?" Miss Spink tilted her head. "Wasn't she missing?"

"I bring you good news," Mr. B announced. "She has been found."

Miss Spink cheered, "Thank heavens!"

"Unfortunately, I am also the bearer of bad news. Coraline is now the one in danger," Mr. B frowned gravely.

"Oh!" Miss Spink cried in horror, "You don't mean that Coraline has gone missing, do you?"

"Well, Miss Spink," Finley explained. "She's not exactly missing. We know where she is. But she's trapped. She needs our help to escape."

Miss Spink glanced out the window and took a sip of tea. 

 

"I am dreadfully sorry, dear, about your mother. I hope you find her again."

Mr. B cleared his throat, "We need your help, April. That is why we have come. To ask for your assistance in this rescue operation. One never knows when an actress of your caliber might come in handy."

_ She liked that last part _ , Finley saw.

"I haven't acted in years—ever since Miriam—"

"Please," Finley pleaded. "My mother needs our help."

Miss Spink sighed, "Your mother was an extraordinary child. I remember when she gave me a hug."

"A hug?" Finley asked. Her mother was careful with hugs, only giving them out when the occasion absolutely called for it.

"Yes,” Miss Spink mused. “I hadn't been hugged like that since my final performance at the theatre."

"Then you will come?" Mr. B asked, exuding confidence.

Miss Spink did not look confident, "My shingles have been acting up."

Finley tugged at Mr. B's sleeve. 

 

He stood up from his seat on the couch, "We have no more time to lose. Coraline is in trouble, and we, her friends and family, must help her." 

 

Spink nodded, not meeting their eyes. 

 

"Think of the pain this child is suffering," Mr. B whispered into Spink’s ear. "What would Miss Forcible want you to do?"

And with that, Finley and Mr. B left Miss Spink sitting alone in her parlor.

They walked outside. 

 

"She called you ‘Mr. Bobo’," Finley said.

"It is an old nickname."

"What's your real name?"

He smiled, "Bobinsky."

"I like Mr. B better," said Finley.

They had walked up the stairs from Spink's flat and were now out front.

"I suppose we should begin," Finley said.

"Yes. Tell me—how does one enter this ‘Other World’?"

Finley frowned. She tried to explain it as best she could. 

 

"There's a door in a wall. You open it, and there's a passageway. Inside the passage, it feels very odd, almost like being inside someone's mouth."

"I cannot wait to experience this," said Mr. B.

The pair opened the door and stepped inside. It was dark and quiet. Finley might have been nervous if Mr. B hadn't been there with her.

"The door is in here," she said, escorting him to the living room. "See?"

He eyed the door in the wall, "Through there?"

"Yes!" 

 

Finley ran over and tugged at the door. It creaked and groaned, but opened. 

 

Behind it there were only bricks.

 

Finley choked back her disappointment, "This is the door. I’m not making it up." 

Mr. B cleared his throat, "I believe you. This creature that is holding your mother captive must have known we would come to her aid."

"But how can we rescue her now? I don’t know another way.”

He smiled, "It might be the only way you know, but I know someone who can help us."

Finley breathed a sigh of relief and looked up, "Who?"

"It might be difficult to believe."

 

After the recent events, nothing seemed impossible to Finley. 

 

"Who?"

"A faerie."


	20. Questioning

While Finley visited with the occupants of the Pink Palace, Wyborn had been visiting with Detectives Smith and Wesson. 

And so far, neither Wybie nor the Detectives had found any enjoyment in the visit. (Although Detective Wesson  _ had _ discovered he enjoyed fiddling with the water cooler in the interrogation room.)

Put simply, they were getting nowhere.

"Where are you hiding the little girl?" Smith would ask, his face beet red.

"I'm not hiding her anywhere," Wybie would protest. "I didn't kidnap her! I promise!"

Wesson would then smile kindly and pat Wybie's hand. 

 

_ It’s sort of a good cop/bad cop routine _ , Wybie figured.  _ Although it’s obvious the officers still have some work to do with the act _ .

"And now the girl’s mother has disappeared," Smith bellowed. "Can you tell me where you've hidden her?"

Wybie shook his head, fed-up with Smith's bellowing and Wesson's patting. 

 

"Like I keep saying, I’ve never kidnapped anyone. And if I told you where Coraline is right now…you wouldn't believe me."

Smith glared.

This went on for almost forty-five minutes. 

 

Police Detectives Smith and Wesson met outside the interrogation room for a brief chat.

“He’s good,” Detective Smith said, with a hint of admiration. “A real tough nut to crack, wouldn’t you say, Wesson?”

 

He glanced at his policing partner, not expecting an answer.

 

“I feel like a failure,” Detective Wesson blurted. “First we can’t track down the girl, then we lose track of the mother, and now we can’t even get a confession out of the criminal.” He hung his head, “I’m ready to give up on him, go turn in my badge, and consider alternative career options.”

 

Detective Smith was dumbfounded. (But not for long.)

 

“Give up?” he sneered. “Those words aren’t in your vocabulary. In fact, I didn’t think you had  _ any _ words in your vocabulary, but that’s another investigation for another time. My point is, if we can’t crack this case, no one can. Now let’s go back in there and try once more. For justice!” 

 

Detective Wesson shrugged and followed his inspiring colleague back into the interrogation room.

 

The suspect groaned, “I thought we were finished.”

 

Police Detective Smith cleared his throat, "For the last time, where is Coraline Jones? If you do not tell us, it will definitely serve as proof of your guilt."

"Okay, okay!" Wybie gave in. "I've had enough. She's in the Other World. With the Other Mother, who has button eyes." 

 

Detective Smith stared at him. So did Detective Wesson. 

 

"No, I'm telling the truth! It sounds crazy, but—” 

The metal door opened to let a thin man hurry inside.

 

"Back already?" Smith said to the man. "Good work, Billings. You've improved since the last time I saw you in action."

"We found no evidence that the girl or her mother were ever there," Billings announced to the two detectives. 

 

“Drat!” Smith snapped his fingers.

 

"But I did find these," Billings continued. 

 

He tossed a stack of envelopes onto the table.

Wybie stiffened, "Wait a minute—you can't search my house without a permit!"

Smith chuckled, "Too late, Mr. Lovat. Billings here just did. And in record time, I must say. You should come back to New York with us, Billings, play with the big boys."

Billings ignored this, "I found these letters locked in a box underneath his bed. There's about twenty of them. All written to—"

"To the Jones residence, I presume?" Smith cut in.

"Yes. I'll leave them here for you to look over." 

 

Billings left the room, muttering something under his breath.

"A charming officer," Smith said. "He could have amounted to something, if he'd set his mind to it. Anyway," he motioned to his partner. "Let's have a look at the evidence."

Wybie gulped, "I can explain—"

Smith held up a hand, "Yes, I'm sure you can, but please wait until after I've read these. Thank you."

This took a few minutes. With every letter, Smith’s smile grew. With every letter, Wybie’s heart sank.

 

"Well, Mr. Lovat,” Smith said once he'd finished going through the entire stack of letters that were now strewn across his desk. “Do you know what I think?”

"No?”

"I think you're a liar." 

 

Wybie and Wesson gasped. 

 

"According to your testimony, you tried to help Miss Jones, am I right?" 

 

Wybie didn't say anything. 

 

"And now you tell us she's trapped in some—fantasy world—with a monster who has buttons for eyes. How does the creature  _ see _ ?"

"Quite well, actually," Wybie replied.

"Hmph! You're a liar, through and through. I've seen your kind before, Mr. Lovat. It will be better for everyone if you decide to tell us the truth now.” 

 

Smith gave an encouraging nod, “Go ahead, confess."

Wybie bit his lip and cursed himself for not destroying the letters. 

 

"Fine. You want to hear my confession? Here it is."

Wesson breathed a sigh of relief as Smith leaned over and whispered, "Told you he'd crack like a nut."

Wybie took a deep breath, "I  _ did _ write those letters. I wrote the first one a month after Coraline left the Pink Palace, and the last one I wrote three days ago." 

 

All three could feel the tension in the room. (It was decidedly unsettling.)

 

"I guess I just couldn't forget her. I mean, I think she may have—kind of—liked me when we were little. But that's not the point. The point is, I missed her. So I tried to put the past behind me. I tried—and I couldn't. Coraline was the first real 'friend' I'd ever had. When she moved out of the Pink Palace, she took a piece of me with her." 

 

Wesson looked confused. 

 

“Gross,” Smith said. “What piece, exactly? No, don’t answer that.”

 

Wybie groaned, and rocked in his chair, "No, I mean—maybe I should have said that differently. But it all comes down to this: I kept writing things down. Things I wanted to say, that I never had the courage to say to  _ her _ . Whenever I was about to put a letter in the mail, though, I got scared again. I hadn't seen her in a while, after all. I didn't even know if she remembered me. That's why I have a bunch of old letters boxed up and addressed to her—because I was never brave enough to send them, okay?"

If he had got up and walked out of the room, Detective Wesson might have let him go. Wybie thought he saw a teardrop fall from the big man's eyes.

Smith, however, was unchanged: "And that's the whole story, Mr. Lovat?"

Wybie started to grin, "Yeah, I guess it is." 

 

He was proud to have finally confessed his feelings, even under such terrible circumstances.

"Nothing else to say?"

"No, sir."

“Well, then.” The detective stood, "If you'd be so kind as to follow me, I'll escort you to your cell. You can stay there until you tell us where you're keeping the girl and her mother."

"No, please! She's in danger right now; you've got to believe me! She needs help, and I'll prove—"

His words faded as Smith signaled Wesson and Wybie was pushed roughly out of the room.


	21. Faeries

"Excuse me, did you say, 'faerie'?" Finley asked politely (but suspiciously).

"Yes. You have never heard of faeries?"

"No. I mean, yes. But I never thought they were..."

"Real?" Mr. B grinned. "You would never have thought a creature with button eyes could be real, either. This world holds many secrets and surprises for those who know where to look. Come, we must go upstairs."

They left the flat with the bricked-up door and were about to head upstairs when they saw a wild-eyed Miss Spink hurrying towards them. 

 

"Wait! Wait for me! I'm coming with you!"

They waited until she caught up with them, panting and holding her side. 

 

"I am proud of you for making the right choice," Mr. B told her.

"Oh, Mr. Bobo," Spink said. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. It will give me a chance to dust off my talents."

Finley looked up at her, "And you’re helping to save my mother."

"Yes, that to, dear. Now where are we heading?"

Finley pointed, "Up. Mr. B is going to summon a faerie. Or try to, at least."

Mr. B smiled, "It has been many years since I spoke to one, but I will do my best."

For a moment, Spink looked lost. Then a knowing expression crossed her face, "Ah, yes. The faeries. Quite right." 

 

She leaned close to Finley and whispered, "I get it. We're all acting. Mr. B is a natural, isn't he?"

Finley wasn't sure what to say, so she kept quiet. 

 

The group made their way up the stairs and into Mr. B's flat. 

 

_ It doesn’t smell like medicine anymore _ , Finley noticed.  _ But it’s messier than I remember. _

"How exactly does one ‘summon’ a faerie?" Miss Spink wondered, looking inquiringly at Mr. B.

"I will tell you. Once we find the book."

"The book?"

"Yes. It was a field journal I used to record my observations when I was abroad. Inside it, there should be a strip of parchment with faerie writing."

"Faerie writing?"

"The language of the faeries is very bold and strange."

"Can you speak it?" Finley asked, very curious about this subject.

"I am fluent,” he nodded proudly, then sheepishly. “That is, I was twenty years ago. But I should be able to decipher enough to serve our purpose. Now, help me find the book. I know it's around here somewhere."

Spink surveyed the cluttered room, "Mr. Bobo, dear, what does it look like?"

He scratched his chin, "If I am remembering correctly, it is a grey book with a silver emblem on the cover. I will search in the bedroom. You two can look here," Mr. B instructed.

Miss Spink looked over at Finley. Finley shrugged and began looking around her.

Finley was the one who found it. The hardback book was lying alone on the bottom shelf of a partially-hidden bookcase. Finley got down on her knees to pull it out.

"Did you find it?" Miss Spink asked, waddling over.

"Yes," Finley said. "I think so."

Mr. B came rushing into the room, "Did I hear you correctly? Has it been found?"

"Yes," Spink said with delight.

"It was down there," said Finley, pointing.

"I would have found it," Spink giggled, “if I could reach that low.”

Mr. B took the book from Finley's outstretched arms. He ran his hand fondly over the dusty cover. 

 

"Yes. I remember this book. I first purchased it in Tanzania, when I was—"

"What about the faeries?" Spink asked.

"I was getting to that," Mr. B coughed. "I was twenty-seven when I met my first faerie. I won't go into details now, but let us say that, over the years, I had occasion to summon faeries several times."

"They don't mind being summoned?" Finley questioned.

"I do not remember. Let us hope they do not, for I am about to perform the ritual." 

 

Mr. B flipped through the book until a sheet of thin, crackly parchment fell out. 

 

"Hand that to me, please." 

 

Finley retrieved it from the floor. 

 

"Ah, yes. This is what we are looking for, my friends. Please step back and give me room.

They did as he said. As they watched, Mr. B shouted a large, awkward word, skipped around (three times) in a circle, and spit onto the floor.

A blinding flash lit the room. Finley uncovered her eyes and— 

"I knew it wouldn't work," Miss Spink grumbled. "Real magic exists only in the theatre."

"Before you say anything else, I would advise you to look to your left, Miss Spink." Mr. B said in a careful tone.

"Why? You don't think—" 

 

Spink covered her mouth with both hands when she saw it. 

 

A tiny creature, no bigger than a hand, hovered with tiny wings that were made of a glittery, silvery substance. 

 

Spink was shocked, "It's a faerie!"

Finley clapped her hands in delight, "You're really real!"

The creature flew into the middle of the group. 

 

"Of course I'm real," it said, sounding a bit resentful.

_ I don’t want to offend it _ , Finley thought. 

 

She apologized, "I'm sorry. It's just that I've never seen a faerie before—except in books."

The faerie rolled its tiny eyes. "Hmph! Of course. It’s because we don’t want humans to see us. Before we adapted, we were bigger."

"But why didn't you want them to see you?" Finley asked it.

"Silly girl!" 

 

It puffed it’s wings out wide, causing Miss Spink to gasp in admiration. The wings sparkled like diamonds. 

 

"People began to trap us and sell us. And, of course, our old enemy found it much easier to catch and kill us when we were larger."

"How large were you?"

It looked Finley over, "Our ancestors were about your size, I would say."

"Remarkable," Spink said.

"But you didn't summon me here to learn about faerie history, did you? I hope not."

Mr. B shook his head, "No, no. We have a problem that requires more than we alone can provide."

"Tell me about it," the minuscule creature replied. "I'll just sit on your shoulder while you explain. My wings are getting tired."

It rested on Mr. B's broad shoulder while he (along with Finley), tried his best to catch the faerie up on the disturbing events. When he told it about the Other Mother's button eyes, Finley thought she felt the air chill, and the faerie seemed to grow dimmer.

When the tale was told, the faerie spoke in it’s small, airy voice, "So this girl's mother has been captured by a beast with buttons for eyes, and is being held against her will in this ‘Other World’. You need my help to get into the Other World."

"Yes," agreed Mr. B. "That is our situation."

"Seeing as you have no other options, and seeing how this girl would like to have her mother back as soon as possible, I will grant your request for help." 

Mr. B smiled and squeezed Finley's shoulder. 

 

Finley had been tense while the story was relayed to the faerie, but now she relaxed.

"Any more questions?"

"I have one," Miss Spink said. "Don't take this the wrong way, but my eyes are not what they used to be, and since you are very small, I cannot tell whether you are a ‘he’ or a ‘she’."

The faerie shrugged it's tiny shoulders. "We've gotten so small that there aren't any differences between us. Or if there are, we don't notice them. We don't define ourselves like you humans." 

 

Miss Spink seemed satisfied by this answer.

"I'm going to open a portal with my magic that will take us into the Other World," the faerie said. "Are you ready?"

Mr. B nodded and looked at Finley. 

 

Finley took a deep breath and tried to look (and feel) courageous.

"Yes, yes," Miss Spink grumbled. "All this talk about portals and Other Worlds and button eyes is confusing me. Let's go and be done with it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you're probably wondering how I felt able to add 'faeries' into the world of Coraline. Actually, I based this off of a section from the book, where one of the children the Beldam has 'eaten' is said to have wings. Neil himself has said the child was a fairy, so I felt all right adding them to my story. Thanks for reading!


	22. Temptation

A brilliant light shone throughout the room, warm and friendly. It bathed the group in happiness.

 

 _Maybe it’s pixie dust,_ Finley thought. _Are we flying?_

 

The light faded. Finley uncovered her eyes and gasped in surprise.

 

They stood outside the door to Miss Spink's flat.

 

Except it wasn’t quite the same flat. There was a wreath of colored lights decorating the door, while a theatrical piano melody tinkled in the background.

 

"An alluring melody," said Mr. B.

 

Miss Spink's eyes were rapturous. Her voice was reverent.

 

"Behold," she breathed, "the theatre!"

 

She strode towards the decorated door (moving faster than she had in a long while).

 

Finley didn't follow.

 

"I don't mean to be rude, Miss Spink,” she spoke up. “But we're here to save my mother, not to see a theatrical production."

 

Miss Spink merely called over her shoulder, "Your mother is just as likely to be in here as in any other place, dear. Follow me!"

 

Finley looked helplessly over at Mr. B.

 

He sighed, "She's right; we may as well begin our search here."

 

Finley didn't say anything, but she trailed the two grownups into the theatre. The faerie flew after them.

 

Led by Miss Spink (whose spirits seemed to brighten with every passing moment), the group entered a small corridor.

 

She stopped only long enough to turn to them and exclaim: "This is just like the old theatre where—where Miriam and I used to perform…"

 

Finley had a bad feeling in her stomach, like the feeling you get after you eat too much.

 

But she was curious to see the inside of a theatre. Her mother had only taken her to a single theatre production, and that was a few years ago.

 

Mr. B, sensing her concern, placed his hand on her shoulder, "Do not worry, Finley."

 

"I'm not," she replied. But she knew that deep down, she was.

 

The hallway ended in an inviting red door.

 

"Now, if we find that—" Mr. B attempted to say.

 

But before he could finish, Miss Spink was inside the auditorium.

 

The first thing Finley saw when they hurried in after was that they weren't alone in the room. Up on the stage, there was a lady.

 

 _A lady with a large bosom,_ thought Finley, in an admiring sort of way.

 

"That's not my mother," she whispered to Mr. B, who didn't answer. The lady was making sweeping gestures. Her lips and hips moved together.

 

_I suppose she's rehearsing her lines._

 

Mr. B finally looked down at her.

 

Finley could tell he was alarmed by his eyes, which were no longer brave, but scared.

 

"That is not your mother," he whispered hoarsely. "That is Miriam Forcible."

 

Finley glanced at the stage and saw Miss Spink making her way up to the front.

 

"You mean—Miss Spink's old acting partner? The one who died?"

 

Mr. B nodded, "The very same. And she looks young again!"

 

The lady on the stage, Miss Forcible, apparently, had noticed them.

 

Or rather, she had noticed Miss Spink.

 

"April! So glad you could join me."

 

Miss Spink was standing below the stage, gazing up in giddy shock. "Miriam? But how? How are you alive?"

 

"It's this Other World, dearie. Makes me young again. Come, come! I need you. The show starts in half an hour."

 

Spink's hand went to her chest, as if to steady her rapidly-pulsing heart, "You…need me?"

 

Forcible gestured dramatically, "Of course I do! I can’t put on a show without you—my accomplice in the arts. I've been waiting for you to arrive; and now look, here you are."

 

Spink was a bit bashful after being apart for so long. "What show?" she asked, clutching her hands together tightly.

 

"Romeo and Juliet. I am playing Romeo, naturally. Come up and I'll give you Juliet’s lines, April."

 

Finley and Mr. B, who had been listening to the whole conversation, ran up to Miss Spink.

 

"Please, Miss Spink," Finley pleaded. "We don't have time for a show."

 

Miss Forcible shooed Finley away with a (dramatic) wave of her hand, "Don't be silly, child. There’s always time for a show around here!"

 

"April," Mr. B said. "Are you sure that this is the best way to help—"

 

"Oh, poppycock,” Miss Spink burst out. “Help me up, Miriam! I've sat around moping for long enough. You're right, as usual. The show must go on!"

 

And with that, Spink joined Forcible on the stage, leaving Finley, Mr. B, and the faerie without a second glance.

 

Mr. B turned away.

 

"Come," he said. "If she wants to stay, there's nothing we can do. We have a mission to complete."

 

Finley backed away from the stage, hoping Miss Spink would come to her senses and rejoin the group.

 

But she did not.

 

She was too busy on stage, receiving her lines from Miss Forcible.

 

Except...

 

"Mr. B?" Finley gasped.

 

"What is it?"

 

"That's not Miss Forcible," she whispered to him.

 

"What?"

 

"Look! That can't be the real Miss Forcible, unless…unless the real Miss Forcible had buttons for eyes."

 

Mr. B squinted up at the stage, then looked back at Finley, "We can come back for Spink later. Right now, I think we should find your mother as quickly as we can. Agreed? Even if we told Miss Spink, I doubt she would care. Ever since Miss Forcible died, she hasn’t been herself. This is the first time I’ve seen her smile in months."

 

Finley nodded sympathetically.

 

They rushed out of the theatre: man, child, faerie.

 

As she ran out the door, Finley heard a voice call after her.

  
"Hurry back or you’ll miss the opening number!"


	23. Mouschkas

"I told you this was a bad idea," the faerie remarked once they were safely outside the theatre. "You've barely landed and you’ve already lost someone. Why must you humans involve yourselves with magic like this? You should leave it to those older and wiser and more beautiful."

"Such as yourself?" asked Finley.

"Precisely," the tiny creature beamed.

"I don’t mean to be rude," Mr. B said, "but if we had left this matter to you faeries, I'm afraid Finley would be out of luck. Where were you when her mother was captured in the first place?"

The faerie scoffed, "You wouldn’t understand if I told you.” 

 

It sniffed (if a faerie can sniff), “What makes you so sure that you'll be able to rescue this person?"

"I have the—"

"Look!" interjected the faerie, buzzing excitedly. "See that dark moving shape?"

Finley and Mr. B looked out at the dark trees. The light outside was growing dimmer.

"I see it," Mr. B exclaimed. "There, in the bushes! My goodness, it's going fast whatever it is. I think it—no, it couldn't be."

"What is it, Mr. B?" asked Finley.

He didn't stop to answer, "Hurry, it's getting away!"

They chased after the shadowy creature. (To be completely accurate, Mr. B chased after the creature while Finley chased after Mr. B. And the faerie glided after them leisurely.) 

 

The small shadow raced up the stairs, heading for where Mr. B's apartment was located in the real world.

Finley paused at the bottom. She saw Mr. B climbing up, up, up. 

 

"Wait!" she called. "I don’t think we should!"

"It's no use,” said the faerie, circling around her head. "You can't stop it. You were the one who started this mess. Now see what you've done?"

Finley swallowed hard, ignoring the pesky thing. 

 

She climbed up the stairs after Mr. B.

By the time she reached the top, the uneasy feeling in her stomach had multiplied. She hoped she wouldn't be sick. 

 

_ I will manage, _ she told herself. 

 

Then she walked into the flat.

Mr. B was kneeling in front of something. 

 

Finley hurried over, "Mr. B! I think we should leave—" 

 

She gasped. 

 

A large group of mice stood on their hind legs. 

 

Some held miniature instruments: trumpets, tubas, clarinets. 

 

Others had drums clutched in their tiny paws. 

 

Each mouse had buttons for eyes.

"They're back,” Mr. B surveyed the scene before him. “My mice have come home!"

"No, Mr. B,” Finley pleaded. “They aren't real. Can't you see? It's no different than with Miss Spink. The Other World is trying to trick you!"

Her words had no affect. It was almost as if he wanted to be tricked. 

 

"Oh, how I've waited for this day. I knew you would return."

Finley realized the faerie was right; it was hopeless. 

 

She knew it now. The Other Mother had lured her allies away, leaving her alone to face—what? 

 

Had the Other Mother set a snare for her as well? 

 

She walked out of the flat and stared down over the edge of the balcony. 

 

She saw no shapes. 

 

She heard no music.

 

Only a creeping dark void and a chill breeze blowing.

"Hullo? Are you out there?" Finley called into the night. "Hullo?"

"Hullo yourself," the faerie surprised her. She'd forgotten about it for a moment. So she wasn't entirely alone, after all.

 

It hovered a few feet in front of her face, wings blurring.

"What do we do now?" she wondered.

"Well,” it said, “I wouldn't expect you to start taking my advice now. But if I were you, I’d hunt for the Beldam. Find her and you'll likely to find your mother."

"But where could she be?"

The faerie sighed (an adorable little noise), "Do I have to help you along every single step of the way?

 

“Please,” Finley said. “I must find my mother.”

 

“Very well,” it exhaled and landed lightly on the railing. “Hold on." 

 

It shut it’s little eyes and went into an intense concentration. 

 

After a few minutes, it stirred, "I sense a dark presence. It's coming from down there," the faerie pointed.

Finley felt fear growing inside her chest, but she smothered it. 

 

"Inside the main flat? The one where my mother used to live?" 

 

The faerie nodded. 

Finley marched down the stairs, gathering up all her courage as she went. 

 

She knew she would need it. 

 

The spidery Beldam had been more frightening than anything Finley had ever seen (or imagined) before. And before being adopted by Coraline, she had seen (and imagined) some extremely frightening things.

Finley passed by a tree and a bush and a rock. All three looked normal. In fact, if it wasn't for the button-eyes, she wouldn't have been able to tell this world apart from her world.

The faerie stopped a few yards away from the steps of the front porch. 

 

"I will go no further."

Finley was alarmed, "You mean, you're not coming with me? You'll let me face the Beldam all by myself? That's cowardly of you, I must say."

"Call it what you will," said the impudent little creature, "but it is strictly against the Faerie Rules to get so near to it."

"That's your final word?"

"Yes."

"Then I shall go alone." 

  
Finley took a deep breath, crossed her fingers, and climbed up the front steps.


	24. Buttons

Finley's hand shook as it clutched the smooth handle and opened the front door. 

Facing the Beldam by herself, she knew she would need every advantage she could get—the element of surprise included.

_ I don't think she's omnipresent _ , Finley thought to herself.  _ At least, I hope she isn't. _

There were voices emanating from down the hallway. They came from the room that held the passage to the real world—the living room. 

 

Finley tiptoed down the corridor, stopping to listen outside the entryway.

"It won’t take long to deal with your little rescue party,” the creature purred metallically. “And then I'll sew the buttons into your eyes, dear. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

To Finley's complete and utter astonishment, she heard her mother answer in an odd, distracted voice. 

 

"Yes, Mother. I would like the buttons sewn into my eyes."

_ She must be play-acting _ , Finley decided.  _ Keeping that beast occupied until we arrive _ . 

 

Still, there was no time to lose. She hadn't given much thought about  _ how _ to free her mother from captivity, but she knew that once the buttons were sewn on, it would be too late.

Finley looked around, considering what she could use for a weapon. Nothing presented itself. 

 

At length, she realized the voices from living room had ceased.

She peeked her head around the corner and immediately regretted doing so. 

 

"Look who's here," the Other Mother's voice did not sound happy. It sounded like that of a bored child grown tired of a game and ready to end it by any means necessary.

Finley walked into the living room.

The Beldam stared into her with cold black buttons.

Finley couldn’t help herself; she ran to her mother, "We've come back to save you! Myself along with Mr. B and Miss Spink and the faerie formed a rescue party. Except..." her words faded.

"Except your rescue mission has failed, little girl," said the Beldam, mockingly. “A for effort.” 

 

A shiver ran up Finley's spine. 

 

"My wonderful creations have already taken care of that fat old lady and that crazy old man. And as for the faerie—"

"You haven't beaten the faerie yet," Finley pointed out, eager to prove the battle had not ended. "It's waiting right outside, setting a trap for you."

The Beldam's body quivered for a brief instant. 

 

"I'm going to see if what you say is true. Coraline, you and your little friend shall stay here until I return."

"Yes, Mother," Coraline's voice was choked, as if she was being gagged by an invisible hand. She looked at Finley as she spoke.

The Beldam scuttled away. 

 

They were alone.

Finley embraced her mother, "Are you glad I've come to rescue you, Mum?"

Coraline didn’t answer for a while. Finally, she said, "No, Finley. You shouldn't have come. You've put yourself and other innocent people in a great deal of danger. But—" She leaned in, whispering, "I have a plan. "

Finley smiled, "I knew you would. You always do."

Coraline didn't say anything else.

In a few minutes, the Beldam came back in.

 

"Your friend lied to us, Coraline. There isn’t a faerie outside. And besides, there's no such thing."

Finley scowled, "Yes, there is. And you know they’re real! The faeries have been your enemy for a long time."

A hissing noise came from the Beldam's lips. 

 

Finley shrunk back.

The Beldam leaned into Finley's face, "I let you go once. That won’t happen again." She sat back in her armchair, "My daughter could use a playmate, couldn't you, dear?"

"Yes," said Coraline. She stood up, "Mother?"

"What is it, darling?"

"I would like to make supper for us tonight."

"Whatever for?"

"Because it's what daughters do. Playing pretend at grownup things like cooking and cleaning."

The Beldam liked this, "Very well. But after supper, you and your friend will get buttons."

Coraline took Finley by the hand and led her into the kitchen. It was a bright, cheerful place. Finley wondered what it was doing in the Other Mother's house.

"Is this part of your plan?" Finley questioned.

"Hush!" Coraline held a finger to her daughter’s lips. "Yes, but we must speak softly. I'll tell you the plan. Ready?"

"Ready."

"The only way for you—for both of us—to escape now is by defeating the Beldam once and for all. The only thing I know of that posses such power," she reached into her jacket pocket, “is this.”

She opened her palm to let Finley see a powdery substance.

"Dust?" Finley was confused. What if the Beldam had played a trick on her mother’s mind? 

"Not just any dust,” Coraline continued. “Ashes. Ashes which came from a special rock that has magical properties, which I believe, when ingested by the Beldam, will kill her."

"Ingested?"

"Eaten."

"So," Finley wrinkled her brow, "we're going to put it into the food?"

Her mother nodded, keeping one eye on the doorway to be sure they weren't being watched.

"But what will happen if we eat the food? It might look suspicious if we aren't eating," Finley pointed out sensibly.

Coraline deposited the powder back into her pocket. 

 

"I've thought of that, but I don't think the powder will harm us."

Finley considered this, then asked, "What if it doesn't work?"

"It has to," Coraline said. "It's our only chance."


	25. Rescue

As Finley helped her mother (or her ‘friend’, as the Beldam put it), she wondered for the first time about Spencer. 

Where was he? What did he think about his girlfriend and her adopted child vanishing? And if—when—they got out, would he believe them if they told him the truth about their adventure? 

Finley doubted this.

When she was younger, she recalled asking Spencer to read her the story of Cinderella, one of her favorite books at the time.

"What about this instead?" he had asked, selecting a thick historical book from the shelf. "It has much more educational value than a silly make-believe story."

Why couldn't he see that Cinderella wasn't just a simple fairy tale? she wondered. It had so much to say about an oppressed woman rising to a status above her former oppressors. Didn't Spencer understand the underlying theme of the book? 

 

Apparently not.

Some people were like that, she knew. One of the teachers at her school had been particularly against children reading fairy tales. 

 

“They poison the brain,” the teacher had argued in front of the school board. Finley had been there that night. She had come to speak in defense of Cinderella (and fairy tales in general).

Her tiny, heartfelt speech had confirmed the board's decision: children could read whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted—as long as it didn't interfere with class time.

"Here," Coraline broke the silence, handing her a glass. "Fill it with milk, please. I need one cup to make supper."

"You know I'm not good with handling delicate glasses," Finley reminded her mother, thinking back upon many incidents in the kitchen. Spencer had said (on more than one occasion) that Finley should be banned from the kitchen.

"Just try to be careful," Coraline said, as usual.

She was making omelets for supper. 

 

When Finley asked ‘why omelets’, Coraline answered, "They're quick, easy, and powder can be dissolved in them without leaving a trace."

"I see," said Finley, impressed with her mother’s knowledge of the culinary arts.

The Beldam's voice came from the living room, reminding Finley of their dire predicament. 

 

"I'm getting impatient, children. Why don't we just sew on the buttons now, while we wait for supper to finish cooking?"

Coraline flinched, almost dropping an egg, and turned to Finley, "Go distract her!"

 

Finley’s eyes bugged, “Me? How?”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Coraline wiped her forehead frantically. “Just tell her that supper is almost finished.”

Finley hurried into the living room. 

 

The Beldam was reclining in the armchair where they’d left her. Since Finley wasn't quite as nervous as the first time she had entered the room, she was able to take a closer look around. 

 

There was a heavy desk of drawers standing right in front of the door to the real world. It looked reliably solid.

"Where is my dear daughter?"

"Oh,” said Finley, who still wasn't used to hearing her mother referred to as this monster's 'daughter'. "She's in the kitchen. I just came to tell you that supper is almost ready."

Finley turned and hurried away, leaving the Beldam to tap it’s sharp finger impatiently on the arm of the chair.

A timer rang in the kitchen as Finley walked back in. Coraline was hurrying to put the last omelet onto a plate.

"All right," Coraline said, tapping a tense finger on the countertop. "You take the drinks out while I finish up."

Finley took three glasses down and set them on the counter. She switched the faucet on, filling each cup (only about halfway, just to be safe from spilling). She held the cups against her chest, about to head out to the dining room, when Coraline stopped her.

"Wait,” she said. “We should put the powder in the cups, too. She has to ingest as much as possible." 

 

Finley set the glasses down on the counter. Coraline placed a spoonful of powder in Finley's hand. 

 

"Put some in each glass."

Finley carefully carried the powder over to the cups. She wasn't going to spill any— 

"Oops."

She looked around. 

 

Her mother's back was turned. 

 

No one had noticed that a small portion of the ashes had fallen onto— 

"Come along, girls," came the Beldam’s voice, thin and sharp as her metal limbs. 

 

Coraline rushed out of the kitchen with Finley close behind her. 

 

Coraline set three plates on the table, an omelet on each one. 

 

Finley set a glass of water in front of each place. 

 

The Other Mother sat at the head of the table. She motioned for Coraline to sit at her right. Finley took the place beside her mother.

"What a—lovely supper, dear," the Beldam grimaced, staring at the bright yellow omelets. "Let's say the blessing."

The Other Mother grasped Coraline's hand. 

 

Coraline tried not to shudder. 

 

She reached for Finley's hand. It was clammy with sweat.

Coraline didn't care. 

 

She knew that this might be the last time she would ever hold her daughter’s hand. 

 

Coraline wasn't sure what would happen if their eyes were replaced with buttons, but she did know one thing—a part of them would die. The part of them with a memory and a will to escape. They would become puppets and the Beldam their operator.

The voice that came from the head of the table was gleeful, "I give my praise and am thankful for—the day that Coraline crawled through my door."

Finley had never heard such a peculiar blessing before a meal. 

 

_ But at least it was short _ .  _ Now that I think about it—I’m very hungry. If the dust doesn’t work, I want to die with a full belly. _

 

She knew that omelets were considered the best-tasting dish her mother could produce, so she reached for her fork and started eating. 

 

It was silent at the table for a few seconds.

Then Coraline spoke to the Beldam, "Aren't you going to eat, Mother?"

The creature laughed, "You should have remembered, dear. Did I ever eat with you and your Other Father when we were having supper?" 

 

The Beldam's cruel smile forced Coraline to look away.

"I would think,” Coraline began, “that when a daughter makes food for her mother, the mother should eat at least a bite out of politeness."

"I would if I could, really,” the Beldam put on a pouty face. “But the food you humans eat doesn't agree with me. No, I feast on something far more delicate and delicious and rare."

Finley stopped eating. 

 

Coraline shot her daughter a look that said: ‘leave this to me’.

 

But Finley was curious, "What?"

The Other Mother's voice was scratchy as she answered, "Children's souls. A very difficult food to obtain. But they store brilliantly and never go rotten."

Finley's fork dropped onto her plate. She didn't feel like eating anymore.

"And speaking of souls, I think my supply is just about out. I'll need another soon." The Beldam looked down the table at them, "I see we're done with supper."

"I'll do the dishes," Coraline said, and there was an urgency in her voice.

 

"No need for that now, darling. We have a more important matter to take care of."

The Beldam led them out of the dining room. She opened her arms wide and said, "Children first."

As Finley walked down the hall towards an unknown fate, the only things she could think about were omelets and souls.


	26. Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. The final chapter in my Coraline sequel. It was so much fun to create, and I want to thank everyone who has continued to stick with me and read every chapter as I post it. Enjoy reading the conclusion; but don't get sad yet. I'm going to post the epilogue next week! After that, you can get sad that it's over. But not until then!
> 
> As always, I appreciate everyone who leaves comments/kudos/reviews.

"Don't move a muscle," the Beldam told them. "I'll be right back. There are a few items that we will need.” 

Coraline and Finley were sitting on the couch in the living room. Their eyes were wide. 

 

Coraline turned to her daughter, "I'm going to try and move the dresser out of the way. The powder didn't work, since—I can't believe I forgot about that. "

She got up and ran to the dresser. 

 

Finley watched as her mother leaned her body against the large, wooden furniture piece. Finley watched as she exerted all the strength she could muster to try and move it. Finley watched the dresser stand still, not budging an inch.

"It's hopeless," she said, not really meaning to say the words out loud.

They heard the Beldam's clattering steps returning. 

 

Still, Coraline tried to move the dresser, calling urgently, “Help me, Finely!”

The Beldam crept back into the room, saying, "The furniture has gained weight since your last visit. Go sit down, Coraline. Now."

Coraline obeyed. Perhaps this had been her fate all along. Perhaps she and the Beldam were destined to be together.

"You've no idea how long I've waited for this day," said the Beldam, who was pacing in front of them. 

 

She held two containers in her claws. One, Finley assumed, held the buttons. The other container, a bag, looked strangely familiar. 

 

"I must tell you, Coraline, your soul is the most precious thing in existence to me right now. Not only are you extremely cunning, courageous, and clever, but you are also very moral. You would rather stay here with me than let your daughter die, wouldn't you?"

"I'd like to try and make it so neither of us end up dead."

"Quite witty, too. The point is, you're an extraordinary human. And to top it all off, you're the granddaughter of a Faerie Assistant."

Coraline and Finley both asked it at the same time, "A Faerie Assistant?"

The Beldam waved her claw in the air dismissively, "Yes, yes. Faeries do exist, just not as most people imagine them. And your grandmother was one of the faeries’ most loyal aides. Maybe that's why I selected you for my world. The faeries’ are ancient enemies to me and my kind. In fact, they successfully eradicated most of us. The strongest ones, such as myself, have survived."

"Where are the others?"

"Most moved into situations like mine. They picked a house and wove a fantasy world around it. They stay there, underneath, trying to catch children to prevent starvation."

"Why is it they only catch children?" Finley puzzled.

"That's enough questions," the Beldam said. It sat down in the rocking chair, which was pulled up next to the couch. 

 

"Which one of you would like to go first?"

But neither Coraline, nor Finley, answered. 

 

They didn't have to, because at that moment, two people rushed into the room.

"Let them go, you witch!" cried Mr. B, making an attempt to grab the Beldam.

"We're here to save you!" Miss Spink yelled, throwing an ornamental vase in the Beldam’s general direction.

Finley leapt to her feet, overjoyed and confused, “But what about Forcible? And the theatre?"

"Overrated," Spink spat out. "Besides, Forcible kept upstaging me."

Coraline wanted to help her two brave old friends fight the Beldam. 

 

Her brain told her body to move. 

 

But she didn't move. 

 

Because in her heart, she knew the battle wouldn't last long.

"You pathetic humans!" the Other Mother hissed. 

 

She tore Mr. B away and tossed him against a wall, “You’re weak.”

 

She smiled at Miss Spink, “And that vase didn’t even graze me.”

 

“Oh,” said Spink, rather dejectedly. “In that case, I challenge you to a duel—a monologue duel!”

 

“No,” replied the Beldam. “Shut up.”

 

She touched her left button eye, "I think there are some friends here to see you."

Miss Spink paused mid-throw. (She was using the chair cushion as a projectile this time.)

"Who?" she asked. "Admirers from the theatre?"

"Not quite," laughed the Beldam, as she stepped out of the way to allow the button-eyed Forcible through the door.

"April, how could you leave me like that?"

"You were hogging the stage," Miss Spink explained crossly.

"Is that all? Come back to the theatre and I'll let you play Romeo  _ and _ Juliet."

Miss Spink shuffled her feet. She looked at Finley and Coraline, then turned back to Forcible, "And I left to come help my friends. I'm not leaving until they're free."

"Don’t be difficult, April," Forcible groaned. 

 

She charged at Spink with uncanny speed.

 

While the two actresses were tussling, something else came through the doorway.

Mr. B’s voice filled with happiness, "My—rats?" His voice changed to horror.

It looked like his old mice circus, except they had grown. And looked more like rats than mice now. 

 

They surrounded him, crawling up his clothes, dragging him down.

"No, please! I trained you. I raised you like my own children!"

 

They didn't listen.

Finley watched as her two accomplices were beaten into submission. 

 

She watched as the Beldam cruelly smiled through it all. 

 

She watched as the wicked creature sat back in the chair and picked up the box of buttons. 

 

"I'm going to enjoy this. The longer the fight, the sweeter the victory."

It took the lid off the box. 

 

Finley climbed to her knees so she could be tall enough to see what was inside. 

 

Not buttons…

 

What were those things? 

 

They were moving, and they looked strangely like chocolate.

 

She turned her head toward her mother.

"They're cocoa beetles," Coraline explained in a whisper. Then her voice went even softer, like she was talking to herself, "One of the few things the Beldam actually eats..."

Finley held her breath.

"What are you going to do with us?" Mr. B asked. 

 

He was tied in a chain of rats on the floor, but his face was free. 

 

Miss Spink's arms were being held from behind by Forcible.

"Oh," said the Other Mother, selecting a cocoa beetle from the box. "Let me think. You've broken into my world, messed with my creations, tried to kidnap my daughter. And now you're here with me, all tied up. I think I'll kill you."

Miss Spink cried out in agony, begging and pleading for release. 

 

Mr. B's face fell, his upper lip trembled.

The Beldam let loose an awful laugh and popped the cocoa beetle into it’s mouth. 

 

Coraline was looking down, thinking (or perhaps crying). But she heard a noise which startled her, so she looked up. 

 

The odd sound was coming from the Beldam. 

 

And the Beldam wasn't sitting in the chair anymore, she was writhing on the floor, coughing.

 

In pain.

"What have you done?" The Other Mother screamed, it’s face contorting into the nastiest expression Finley had ever witnessed.

"What's happening?" Spink asked.

The room was quite loud for a moment, with everything descending into chaos. 

 

Then, with one final cough, the Beldam grew still. 

 

Coraline could have sworn it’s button eyes were focused on her as they grew dim. 

 

A trickle of black liquid flowed from the corner of the it’s mouth.

“What a game,” the Beldam sighed in a barely-audible breath.

 

And it said nothing more.

"Could it be?" Coraline choked out.

"Is it—dead?" Mr. B asked, stopping his struggling.

Finley’s heart raced, "Mother," she said. "I have a confession to make."

"Yes?" 

 

"I spilled some of the powder in the box of cocoa beetles. They were laying on the counter."

Finley had never seen her mother's face so happy. 

 

Coraline stood and lifted Finley down from the couch.

"Mr. B—Miss Spink—we are free."

Finley realized it was true. 

 

The rats vanished, evaporating into mid-air. Forcible was slowly melting away.

"April—" the rapidly-decaying figure groaned.

"Yes? What is it, Miriam?"

"Carpe diem…and goodbye." Forcible’s voice was difficult to understand, as it was just a puddle on the floor now. 

 

And the floor—it seemed to be shrinking.

"Hurry!" Coraline shouted. "Now that the Beldam is gone, her world is falling apart!"

"Where is the passageway?" Mr. B yelled, trying to be heard over the wind that had sprung up seemingly out of nowhere.

"Behind the—" 

 

But the dresser was gone now.

"C'mon!" Finley called to the grownups. She ran to the door and tried to open it. 

 

"It's unlocked!"

Coraline knelt next to the Other Mother's corpse. It, too, was slowly melting. Or being blown away by the wind. 

 

Before it vanished completely, Coraline tore the necklace away from the Beldam's body and tucked it into her pocket. 

 

The button-shaped key to the door was attached to the necklace.

"Just in case," she whispered.


	27. Epilogue

**THREE YEARS LATER**

 

As Finley awoke, she became aware that someone was jumping on her.

 

Her eyes flew open, then squinted in the early morning sunlight. It would be a gorgeous day.

 

"She's awake!" 

 

That voice belonged to Jackson, a young orphan boy.

"Good morning, Finley!" 

 

That was his twin sister, Jessie.

The two had lost their parents in a terrible accident a few years ago, when they were only three years old. After drifting in and out of different foster homes, they'd ended up here, at the Pink Palace.

For you see, Coraline had decided that—while adopting Finley was a wonderful thing to do—there were countless more young children like her who needed a home. 

 

That's why, a few months after their close-call in Oregon, Coraline and Finley had agreed to the idea of starting a home for orphans.

It wouldn't be a dull place, like some orphanages, they agreed. 

 

And unlike FFHOO, only kind people would work there. 

 

They put their hearts and souls into the foundation of their new orphanage, and ran it themselves. They both agreed to call it the ‘The Pink Palace’, although it was often referred to simply as: "The Palace".

"All right, I’m awake," Finley laughed, gently pushing the twins off her and stepping onto the cold wooden floor. 

The building was the original Pink Palace itself, although it had gone through several renovations before anyone was allowed to stay there permanently. 

 

The door in the living room had been completely covered, for one thing. 

 

Finley had overseen the painting of the interior as well, and it was no longer the boring color it had once been.

When Coraline had asked Wybie what he thought of the idea, he had offered the building to her at once. 

 

"It'll be so nice to have the grounds used once again," he'd said. "Places like the Palace are meant to be explored." 

 

Coraline agreed wholeheartedly.

For the first few months, Wybie had come to help out at the Palace with some minor repairs every weekend.

Three years later, however, he was a permanent guest. 

 

There were many repairs to be done, he told them. There were plants that needed to be researched by a scientist like himself. 

 

(Plus, Coraline and Spencer were no longer together, something Wybie was glad about.) 

 

From the moment Spencer heard about Coraline's plans to open an orphanage, he opposed it.

"How can we keep our relationship alive if you're off on the other side of the country taking care of a bunch of orphans?"

"You're right,” Coraline told him. “We can’t." 

 

So she broke up with him. 

 

Now that Wybie was living at the Palace, and seeing Coraline everyday, Finley thought her mother had become much less grumpy and much more cheerful. 

 

Most of the time, anyway.

There were always those moments when one of the children needed a little scolding, such as when Dalton (who was eleven) had tried to camp out in the forest at night without permission.

 

Or when Sarah (who was seven) had refused to brush her teeth for three days in a row. 

 

But for the most part, Finley could see great improvement in her mum.

"It's time for breakfast," Jessie said, pulling on Finley's arm.

"Hold your horses," Finley told her. “I’m coming!”

"We don't have any horses," Jackson told her, eyeing her suspiciously. "Do we?"

"I wish we did, though," Jessie sighed. "I'd name it ‘Butterscotch’, and ride all over the forest."

"Butterscotch?” her twin laughed. “That's a dumb name for a horse."

"I think it's a fine name, Jackson," Finley interjected, trying to stop the twins' bickering before it escalated. 

 

Jackson and Jessie rarely quarreled—but when they did, it never ended well. 

 

"Now come along, you two. I can already smell—beets."

All three laughed. 

 

No matter what food was served in the Palace, whether breakfast, lunch, or dinner, you could be sure there were beets in it.

 

Because the chief was none other than Mr. B himself.

He had readily accepted the new situation, and since he had once worked as a cook in a small restaurant in his home country (or so he told them), Coraline was happy to accept him into their new family. 

 

Finley was also glad to have him, but made him promise never to cook any ‘recipes’, which he agreed never to do. 

 

His food wasn't great, but it wasn't bad, either, and the beets he used in every dish did seem to improve the children's health.

The children needed hearty meals for energy, because the Palace boasted one of the best (and most vigorous) theatre classes in the country. 

 

These classes were taught by none other than Miss Spink.

"I need something to do, now that I'm old," the former actress had chuckled, "and what better occupation than training the next generation of theatre enthusiasts? Besides, dear—moving all my things out from the Palace and into another building would’ve been too great a burden on my fragile body."

Miss Spink had been kidding, of course, about the ‘fragile’ part. In truth, she had begun doing yoga with Mr. B, and the two of them were never lacking in energy. ( _ Perhaps they’re also falling slightly in love, _ Finley hoped.)

 

Finley, with the twins in tow, made it to breakfast in one piece, but a few minutes late. 

 

The table was set and everyone else seated. 

 

Finley took her place beside her mother, who greeted her with a smile.

"Good morning, dear," she said.

"Good morning, Mum."

The whole room echoed with cries of, "Good morning, Finley!" from the other children. 

Normally, the Palace had about twenty-five or so children. Most of them were under ten years old, although the eldest was seventeen.

(So far, only one child had left after coming to the orphanage, and that was under unusual circumstances. But that’s another tale for another time.)

 

The family ate breakfast with much chatter. 

 

Breakfast at the Palace was the time for planning your day.

"I'm going swimming before lunch," a boy named Eli called. "Anyone else wanna come?"

"Me!" exclaimed Emma, who was nine, and never missed a chance to be around Eli.

"We do," shouted the twins simultaneously. "And Finley will come with us. Right Finley?"

Finley looked up from a plateful of scrambled eggs and swallowed before replying. (It was a rule that no one could talk with their mouths full at the table. Since the children had a whole day to plan out, and thus a lot of talking to do, breakfast time sometimes had to be extended.)

"Sorry," Finley answered the twins. "I'm helping Miss Spink today."

"You know, children," Miss Spink told them from her place next to Mr. B, "Finley may very well be a famous actress someday."

Finley had found a new passion—acting. 

 

She loved the feeling of taking on a character’s personality, actions, feelings. And according to Miss Spink (and everyone else who watched her perform), she was very good at it.

"I'm going to explore the woods after breakfast," announced six-year-old Lyle.

"No, you aren't," said Coraline, playfully. "Don't you have school until noon?"

Lyle sulked for a few minutes, then asked, "Can I explore after class?"

"It's 'may I'," Coraline smiled. "And yes."

"Thanks, Mom!"

Finley felt a happy, warm, fuzzy feeling inside as she helped clear away the dishes. 

 

Every single one of the orphans who stayed at the Palace thought of Coraline as their mother.

_ It's ironic, _ Finley thought.  _ In a way, Coraline is carrying on the title of the 'Other Mother'. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it :)
> 
> I had an idea to continue with another sequel, all about new children exploring the spooky (and perhaps haunted?) area around the Palace. I still think it could be an interesting story, but I haven't found time to write it.
> 
> Maybe one day.


End file.
